


Angel Cake and Wine

by kyrene



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, Post-Movie, References to Past Child Abuse, limbo fic, references to non-con, severe eames-whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-10
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-25 22:15:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/275410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrene/pseuds/kyrene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Due to a botched attempt at memory erasure which ended up erasing too much, Arthur has to go down to limbo to fetch Eames. Twice. He discovers that things aren't always what they seem, and that there have been some things he's been very wrong about. Can he fix things and return Eames to his own mind? And then can they fix things between them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

During the two years that he had been on the run Dominic Cobb had gone to Arthur many times for help. So perhaps now, once he'd finally come home to his children and made peace with the guilt he felt over his wife's death, it was only fitting that he play host to an Arthur who desperately needed his help in turn.

His immediately kneejerk reaction was to say "no." He had children to care for now. He had retired from working in the dream-share, and good riddance to it.

But he owed Arthur. He owed Arthur more than simple thanks could repay, and the fact that Arthur wasn't reminding him of this fact didn't make it any less true.

No, Arthur wasn't calling in a debt owed. Arthur was coming to him as one friend to another, begging him for his aid, and for some modicum of understanding.

Of course, it might have helped if Dom knew _what_ had brought Arthur so low. So far Arthur had yet to inform him of the details.

"I fucked up," Arthur said, slumping at the Cobb family kitchen table, his head in his hands, and Dom had never heard him sound so miserable, so upset. He had never heard Arthur sound as though he was on the verge of tears. "I fucked up, Cobb."

"So we fix it," Dom said calmly, and he didn't chide Arthur for his language, even though James was playing with plastic dinosaurs in a sunny spot on the tiles just a couple of feet away from the table. Phillipa was still at school, which Dom was grateful for, because she would have been very upset over her "Uncle Arthur" being so visibly distraught.

"It's not that easy," Arthur said thickly, raising his head. He looked haggard, shadows bruising his normally bright eyes, stubble lining his jaw in a silent testament to his obvious mental distress. Dom couldn't think of any time he'd seen Arthur with stubble, even when the two of them had been forced to hide out together in one hotel room for days at a time. "I wish it were, but it's not."

"All right," Dom said, maintaining his cool. So many times during their years of working together on and off, Arthur had been the one to remain calm while Dom started yelling and occasionally throwing things. It was only fair that, sitting here in his warm kitchen with his children near him or coming home soon, Dom stay calm for Arthur. "How about we start by you telling me what you need me to do."

Arthur dragged a hand down his face, his palm scratching over his stubble, and life was beginning to come back to his eyes, his lips firming. Dom was pleased that he'd been able to affect this shift in mood, but Arthur's next words sent him spiraling into a new storm of confusion and curiosity.

"I need you to take care of Eames for me, just for a while."

=+=

_"Poor dear," the woman cooed, rocking the heavily-swaddled baby and shaking her head as she gazed down into its round pink face with a mournful expression. "Your darling Mum dead birthing you and a father who doesn't want you. Perhaps... perhaps it would have been better had you died with your Mum. Or not been born at all."_

_This one couldn't possibly have been a memory._

=+=

It had been a long, slow dance that they had been indulging in. Desire repressed and attraction denied. If anything, they might have expected the Fischer job to serve as a catalyst, but in truth it had really been nothing more than a means by which they had grown to know one another better, to perhaps come to respect one another more.

Respect was one thing. Trust was another matter entirely. But then, Arthur didn't really trust anyone. Not even himself, if he was painfully honest. Trust was a hard thing to earn and an easy thing to lose, and Arthur knew that he'd let people down in the past himself.

So he went on his way, and Eames went on his, and it was easier to deny the stirring feelings that Arthur _might_ have for the other man when he couldn't see him. When he thought about it -- which he tried not to do often -- Arthur kind of assumed it was the same way for Eames.

It would have been easier if it had just been sexual attraction, Arthur sometimes thought. In the middle of the night when he couldn't sleep, or when he had given in to the momentary weakness of alcohol. Then they could have just fucked and it would have been over with.

But working together had taught Arthur some things about Eames. The man was brilliant and talented, he was focused and professional, and he knew his way around the human psyche as though he'd been trained to it, even though Arthur knew full well that the man had never had an official psychology course in his life.

Of course, anyone who successfully worked in the dream-share, in the profession of extraction, for any period of time learned to understand and manipulate emotions and instincts. But Eames did it with a flare that Arthur suspected with entirely instinctual.

Add to that the fact that the forger was downright beautiful.... The severe side part and stubble did nothing to detract from this, no matter how distracting Eames might have meant his look to be. In fact, the very next time Arthur had seen him after the Fischer job was over, Eames had changed his look. He hadn't been back to Mombasa, as was obvious from his lack of a tan, and he'd gotten a haircut. He still had the stubble, but with the messy spikes of hair and smoother lines of his face, it had made him look both younger and more disreputable at once.

This had caused Arthur to think back to the first time he had worked with Eames, and he recalled that at the time Eames had worn his hair even longer and had been clean-shaven. In fact, by the second time they worked together after performing inception together, he recognized the fact that Eames changed his look as easily as Arthur changed his address. His hair had grown out but he had no side part, and he was sporting a full mustache, with most of his tan back. Arthur hadn't cared as much for that look, but he had still found Eames to be distressingly attractive nonetheless.

And that was as much a part of the problem as the respect he'd come to have for Eames as a colleague. If it had been just one or the other.... But it wasn't. It was both. And without any false conceit or modesty, Arthur had come to think that Eames felt the same way about him.

Avoiding Eames might have been an option at this point if it had been possible... only it really wasn't. Not only had they been thrown together more often after the Fischer job, but Arthur suspected that it was a conscious decision on one or both their parts. Certainly if a job called for a forger, Arthur suggested Eames. He liked to work with the best, after all, and Eames was the best at what he did, as well as being disgustingly competent in other areas.

But that wasn't all of it. It was like an itch that had settled in beneath his skin. If Arthur went too long without seeing Eames, he found himself manufacturing a reason for them to work together, even if it meant taking jobs that he normally wouldn't take.

It was even more difficult, not dragging Eames into his bed. Arthur wasn't shy and he was fully aware that Eames was interested in him. But he was a proud man, as was Eames, and so neither of them wanted to be the first to blink, so to speak. Arthur didn't want to make the first move because he refused to show weakness, and he was completely convinced that Eames felt the same way. Which was stupid, because it kept them from indulging in something that they both wanted, something that might be immensely satisfying....

But there was more to it than that, Arthur thought in his darker, more open moments. There was also the fact that there might be something more there than mere sexual attraction. There was the fact that when they were not driving one another crazy, he and Eames genuinely got along. They had the same interests, they had many of the same likes and dislikes, and when they weren't violently opposed on something, they were generally frighteningly in synch.

And that was a huge part of the problem, was most of the reason they hadn't tumbled into bed yet, Arthur thought. There was too much of a risk of emotional entanglement. They could be friends or they could be lovers, but Arthur knew what happened when someone was both, and he'd seen what Cobb had gone through when Mal had jumped to her death. He wasn't going down that road.

So if that meant that he continued the dance around Eames without any satisfaction or consummation, so be it. It was like a kind of torture to work with him, seeing him but unable to have him, but it was even harder when they were apart, when Arthur found himself texting the other man or just wondering what Eames would think of whatever Arthur's current job was.

It was sheer madness, but Arthur didn't see any way out of it. Even though he was well aware that things couldn't go on like this forever.

=+=

_"You miserable little sod. You're five years old now. Can't you even hold onto a single cup? That was one of your mother's favourites too. Does it make you happy to know that you broke something that your mother loved? The mother that you killed on your way to being born? God, to think that I'm left with such a useless excuse for a son!"_

_This one... unfortunately, this one probably_ was _a memory._

=+=

The beginning of the end, although Arthur didn't recognize it at the time, came during a job that he and Eames were working together in New York.

It was such a simple thing that it wasn't until later, after everything had fallen apart and Arthur had put the puzzle pieces back together, that he realized how absolutely pivotal it had been.

In his defense, at the time it happened Eames hadn't known its significance either. Neither of them had had any way of seeing the future and avoiding this particular pitfall. It had seemed such an insignificant moment, to later carry so much weight.

"Hey, Arthur," Eames had drawled, coming to a pause beside the desk Arthur was working at. The day was coming to a close, but Eames was only getting started. He was set to keep the mark under surveillance, and the man didn't really get going until early in the afternoon on any given day. "Rodgers is going to the opera tonight. Want to be my date?"

"No, thank you," Arthur had replied dryly, telling himself that he had too much to do, that he was responding to this fact, and not to the word "date" that Eames had thrown out as though it was nothing at all.

Eames had shrugged easily, his smirk not faltering in the slightest. "Your loss," he'd replied and walked away, and that had seemed to be the end of that.

If only it had been as simple as it had seemed.

=+=

"I think being with the kids will be good for him," Arthur said, and it pained Dom to hear how weary he sounded, how his normally controlled tones slurred with fatigue.

Then again, considering what he was dealing with.... Well, Dom could hardly blame the man. Especially since Arthur obviously felt responsible for what had happened to Eames. That part of it he hadn't explained to Dom, but it was clear to read in his expression, his tone, the way he had completely taken over the whole scenario even though Dom would have been hard pressed to say why....

Well, that part was a lie. He'd been more than a little distracted and self involved during the Fischer job, but Dom would have had to have been blind not to have noticed the sparks flying between Arthur and Eames. Once he'd gotten past the point of thinking that they actively disliked one another, he'd realized that what he was actually seeing was immediate and undeniable _attraction_. Although, for some reason, they had both seemed bent on ignoring their feelings for one another.

That hadn't been any of Dom's business, of course, and he'd only been concerned with whether or not they could work together to help him pull off the inception that Saito had commissioned them to perform on Robert Fischer.

Still, there was more to it than that, there must be a tangible _reason_ for Arthur to feel so responsible, so guilty. There must be some cause for Arthur to blame himself for what had happened to Eames, even though from what he had told Dom, Eames had brought it on himself.

"You're sure it'll be all right?" he couldn't help asking. Because he liked and trusted Arthur and would do what he could to help, but these were his _children_ they were talking about.

To his credit, Arthur didn't take offense. Although, that might have been in part because he was too _tired_ to get his back up. "Absolutely, Cobb," he said, sounding so certain that Dom couldn't question him any further. "Trust me. It's.... After all, it's sort of as if Eames is a child himself now."

Dom nodded silently, because he really didn't have anything to say to that.

=+=

Arthur had thought he'd felt betrayed when he'd discovered the lengths that Cobb had gone to in pursuing his own selfish goals during the Fischer job. There had been other times in his life that someone he'd thought he had reasonable cause to trust had turned on him. And certainly Eames had never made him any grand declarations of fidelity or intent.

Still, it surprised him how much it hurt when he was watching the recorded surveillance tape of the mark's house the day after he'd declined to go to opera with Eames, and saw the man himself, Eames, the team's forger, making his way out the front door and down the walk.

The recording was grainy, hard to parse, but it was obvious that it was Eames. Arthur couldn't have mistaken those full lips, the tousled hair. There was also no way of misinterpreting the way Eames was walking, as though he'd been well fucked, and the sleepy, slightly dazed expression on his face.

Of all the things Arthur might have expected, this would have been the last on a long list. He felt his heart clench with something like physical pain in his chest, and then he was filled with unaccountable rage.

There was no reason for this, he could freely admit. He'd never gotten any promises from Eames, had never made any or asked any. They weren't sleeping together and so there was no reason they couldn't sleep with someone else. Granted, it was remarkably unprofessional to have sex with their mark during a job, but Arthur wasn't truly in a position to judge.

Eames didn't show up to work with the rest of them the day after the opera, and by the time twenty-four hours had passed Arthur was able to banish the last of the pain and the rage, feeling his heart freeze over and telling himself that it was for the better than he had discovered Eames' true nature before he'd made any moves or put forward any effort. He'd managed to convince himself that he had never actually cared, and he was going to be able to work with Eames, no different than they had been before Eames had gone home with Rodgers.

Then, the very next day, the job had fallen apart when the mark died in an unfortunate car accident, and their little erstwhile group had separated. Arthur didn't have any chance to see Eames again, and this was a good thing.

Or, at least, so he tried to tell himself.

=+=

_"I heard your Dad shipped you off here 'cause he couldn't stand the sight of you. Can't say I blame him; you're quite the mess, couldn't look much worse if you were trying. Are you trying? Quite the mouth on you, though. Built for gobbing off, innit? Come here, boy. I'm talking to you!"_

_This might be a memory or it might be a composite of multiple confrontations. Either way, it was no less disturbing than any of the other encounters. Disturbing and distressing._

=+=

Dom had seen the result of botched jobs before. He'd thought he'd seen the worst of it, when he'd been responsible, however inadvertently, for his own wife plunging to her death.

What had happened to Eames might not be worse than that. After all, Eames was still alive, and there was the chance that it might still be reversed. Arthur was certainly pinning his fragile hopes on that last, to the point that it hurt Dom to see.

But even with this chance, the possibility of recovery, even though Eames was not dead, Dom couldn't help thinking that this might almost be as bad as what he had done to Mal. Because Eames... wasn't Eames any more.

At the point he was now, Eames might as well be dead. And that was painful to see, and it brought up so many bad memories for Dom, especially when he saw the pained, guilt-ridden, lost look in Arthur's eyes....

But he'd made Arthur a promise, and he intended to keep it. And right now? Well, honestly, right now his home was probably the safest place for Eames to be.

Especially if there _was_ any chance of fixing this. If there was, then they would do it. All of them together.

=+=

Arthur really hadn't meant to work with Eames again. It happened almost by accident, though Arthur probably should have been more careful and been more stringent in avoiding the other man.

But he'd been certain that Eames was back in Mombasa when he'd accepted the job in Seattle. And by the time he'd realized his mistake it had been too late; they'd both committed to seeing the extraction through.

Eames had made another of his transformations, but Arthur wasn't sure he approved of this one. Not with the weight that Eames had lost, the puffiness of his eyes that bespoke too much alcohol and too little sleep, and the way his clothes were wrinkled and ill-fitting. He needed a haircut worse than ever, his stubble looked more scruffy than usual, and it absolutely was not Arthur's place to notice any of this.

He reminded himself of that last, over and over, because if he didn't he'd have ended up feeling deeply concerned for the man. Eames seemed... distracted. Not his normal sharp self. It wasn't up to Arthur to figure out why. But he would make sure that Eames left their team if it began to affect his performance. Arthur only worked with the best, and if Eames wasn't the best anymore....

Well.

They had a new chemist on this job, a pretty young blonde thing who had no idea of what Arthur and Eames had once sort of had between them. She had immediately fixated on Arthur, and he was perhaps a little ashamed to admit that he had encouraged her. At least, he hadn't discouraged her in her flirting. Perhaps he had played along a bit. And perhaps it had been in an effort to get back at Eames, though Arthur had far too much pride to really acknowledge that last....

Eloise was young and enthusiastic, she was pretty and petite. Aside from the golden hair and blue eyes, she reminded him a little of Ariadne. Only not quite as brilliant and intuitive, and also less curious and astute, less likely to ferret out any of the things Arthur might prefer to keep hidden. She took him at face value, and after the complexity of his non-relationship with Eames, this was a breath of fresh air.

Arthur hadn't been serious in his returned flirtation, on this he was steadfast. Eames might have cheated first -- not that Arthur could label it as actual infidelity in any fairness, even if that was what his heart told him it had been -- but Arthur wasn't about to sleep with Eloise out of spite or pique.

It was pushing things a little far, though, when he had allowed her to kiss him one evening when they were in the office they were working out of, alone as far as either of them knew.

It was pure happenstance, and nothing Arthur would have desired even at his most angry, that Eames walked into the room in this moment. Two wrong could sometimes make a right, and Arthur felt he would have been justified if he had tried to make Eames jealous, but he didn't want to be shown as being anything less than the better man. And this clinch, as spontaneous as it was, and as much as it had been initiated by Eloise, definitely put him on equal footing with Eames.

It was a scenario worthy of the cheapest pulp novel, Arthur thought distantly as he watched Eames turn white, then spin on his heel and silently leave the room before either Arthur or Eloise could say anything. Not that Eames had any right to feel betrayed, Arthur reminded himself, even as he gently pushed Eloise away from him. But this had been a mistake, and he made sure that Eloise knew this.

She wasn't angry, though she'd have had the right to be after the way Arthur had flirted back.

"Are you and Eames...?"

"No," he'd replied, maybe a little too sharply, and the pointed look she'd given him had reminded him of Ariadne all over again. But it was true that there was nothing between he and Eames. Not anymore.

None of them mentioned the kiss later. Eloise toned down the flirting now that she knew it wasn't going to lead anywhere. Arthur remained friendly with her but completely stopped flirting, telling himself it was for her sake, not because of what Eames had seen. And Eames... well, his demeanor had been so hangdog already that it was hard to tell if anything had changed.

Arthur told himself over and over that he shouldn't worry. That Eames was a grown man and that whatever he was struggling with -- whether it was remorse, jealousy, heartbreak, or something completely unrelated to Arthur -- he could deal with it on his own.

That didn't stop him from worrying.

And once the job was done and the group dispersed, when Eames completely fell off the grid... Arthur wasn't able to wait past a month before he began trying to track the vanished forger down.

Once he found him, he wished that he'd started looking a month ago. But by then it was too late.

=+=

Without meaning to, Dom found himself speaking to Eames in the same tones he used on his children. But that was what seemed to work best.

Arthur was off, personally approaching the members of the team they'd pulled together to work the Fischer job, not willing to leave it to phone calls or emails to convince them of how badly he needed their help. He was trusting Dom to watch over Eames, and that was what Dom intended to do. For one thing, he owed Arthur. And for another, he owed Eames as well. Granted, Eames had done his part to achieve inception for the amount of money Saito had been offering and for the sheer challenge of it. But that didn't mean that Dom wasn't indebted to the man.

Besides. It would have been impossible for him to look into those guileless grey eyes and turn Eames away. Now he understood why Arthur was so devoted to reversing the damage that had been done. And he sympathized with how protective Arthur was of their erstwhile forger.

Dom didn't know what it was that Eames had tried to forget, but due to a botched attempt, he had forgotten... well, nearly everything. Now he was a blank slate, completely vulnerable, and until Arthur returned, until they figured out a way to fix this, Dom was going to take care of Eames. For Arthur, for Eames himself, and for the sake of Dom's own conscience.

It was the least he could do, and he was going to do it the best he could, for everyone involved.

And for the sake of everyone involved, most especially Eames, Dom was going to remain positive and assume that this was something that could be reversed.

The alternate was too dire to contemplate. Mal had died but Eames was still alive, and while there was life, there was hope.


	2. Chapter 2

The indignity of it might have outraged Arthur if he hadn't been too overcome with intense concern to feel anything else.

Finding Eames where he had done, lying quiet and pale on a hospital bed, completely closed away from the world, locked in what the doctors were calling a coma, even though Arthur knew better... well, it had clarified a lot of things for Arthur. Namely, the fact that Arthur didn't really _care_ that Eames had slept with a mark, and the fact that Arthur had feelings for Eames completely regardless of that.

Maybe it shouldn't have been such a revelation. Certainly, it shouldn't have taken something like this to act as a catalyst. But if they were both of them here... well, the least Arthur could do was to stop trying to fool himself. They both deserved better than that.

Arthur was angry. He was angry with the idiot doctors who were giving Eames the bare minimum of care, even though they didn't know any better. He was angry with the asshole dream-share workers who had promised Eames that they'd be able to erase certain memories and leave the rest of his mind intact. And he was angry with Eames for attempting that last, even though he had no idea what it was Eames had tried to erase.

A part of Arthur -- that was incredibly insecure at the same time it gave him an inflated sense of self -- suggested it had been _Arthur_ that Eames had been trying to erase.... And yet that was completely ridiculous.

Arthur had questioned the unsavory characters who had been working with Eames to perform what they called an "eradication" but they'd been mum, sighting "client confidentiality". Never mind that Eames was lost in the depths of the dream they'd plunged him into, almost definitely lost in limbo, never mind that they'd completely botched the job, never mind that Eames might never wake....

Well, Arthur could understand where they were coming from, even though he had zero respect for them and wished he'd had the time to crack their skulls. Just because Eames was out of commission and Arthur was asking questions, that didn't mean they could go blabbing Eames' secrets without his permission.

And, as they had pointedly informed Arthur, Eames had been appraised of the chance of failure when he'd paid them half the cash up front. They were out the rest of the payment, it was true, but Eames was gone, lost in limbo, and the only things keeping Arthur from exacting revenge were the facts that they had made sure to get Eames to the hospital, and that Arthur's time and effort would be better spent trying to get Eames back.

Arthur wondered what could possibly be bad enough that Eames would want to erase it. The logical part of him knew that it had to be something bigger and more traumatizing than the kiss he had shared with Eloise. To even think that this was the possible cause was beyond ridiculous. If Eames had cared that much he'd have confronted Arthur about it, would have put up more of a fuss. After all, Arthur had let it go quietly when Eames had spent the night with their mark, on the aborted Rodgers job....

There was something about that thought that sparked something in Arthur's hind brain, but he was too concerned with getting Eames somewhere safe and getting him out of limbo to pursue it. The first was easy enough. Bribing the hospital staff was appallingly easy. After all, Eames was a nameless coma patient with no health insurance. A generous "contribution" from Arthur got the proper people to look the other way, and the two of them were on their way.

It cost Arthur considerably more to hire a few relatively reliable people who worked in the dream-share, people he could trust enough to watch over himself and Eames as he made his way down to the fourth level; which was pretty much synonymous with limbo, as Cobb and Mal had discovered. To get in deeply enough that Arthur had been able to track Eames down.

Or, at least, he'd been able to _try_.

=+=

Arthur hadn't been expecting to find Eames right off, even though that would have been nice. After all, Cobb had searched for almost a lifetime before finding Saito. If Cobb hadn't kept his knowledge of himself and what he was doing, he'd have been as old as Saito or older by the time he found the man.

Arthur intended to keep his sense of himself no matter how long his self-appointed task took. He had only Cobb's brief descriptions of limbo to go on -- something Cobb hadn't been eager to talk about, something Arthur hadn't even attempted to approach Saito about -- but Arthur knew that remaining aware of where he was and why he was there was absolutely essential. That was the reason Mal had died, because she had lost herself in limbo. And that was why Arthur _could not forget himself_. Or Eames.

He wasn't sure what to expect. Ariadne had described a crumbling city, huge and empty, but that had been in Cobb's subconscious, after he and Mal had spent half a century of dream-time building. Right now Arthur was in Eames' personal limbo. It might take on shades from Arthur's subconscious as he traveled through it, but when he first entered it, it was all Eames.

That was why Arthur wasn't actually very surprised to open his eyes to a drear and heavily overcast sky, coming to himself in the center of an overgrown garden.

He recognized the grey edifice before his as being Eames' ancestral home. He wasn't supposed to know about it, of course. But he did, and he knew it when he saw it, even though it was a great deal bigger and more imposing than he thought that it was in the world up above.

With no better idea, Arthur entered by a side door, exploring the empty, echoing halls. The place wasn't any more inviting inside than out, and Arthur almost pitied Eames having to grow up somewhere like this, though he thought that it was more likely to be Eames' bad memories rendering the place so foreboding, than a reflection of reality.

He had no clue where he was going, so Arthur was a little surprised to find himself entering a room that was evidently a nursery. Having grown up in a small house with his family crowded around him, Arthur couldn't imagine the luxury of a baby having its own entire suite... but then, this nursery didn't look any cozier than the rest of the building.

There was a projection here, but Arthur wasn't on alert, even though he was, of course, carrying a weapon. Not only was it simply prudent, but he also needed to be able to shoot himself and Eames out of limbo once he'd found Eames.

The projection was obviously a caregiver of some sort, but not the mother of the child, when Arthur listened with growing distress to the words she murmured to the baby in her arms. Arthur wondered if that tiny bundle was Eames, when he was an infant. Considering that he was an only child whose mother had died giving birth, considering that they were in a limbo that was contained within Eames' subconscious, that was a virtual certainty.

There was no way this was a memory, Arthur tried to comfort himself, as he listened to the nanny say things that no one should ever say to an infant, no matter how young, but it was hard not to wince in sympathy and pity. Arthur felt a growing anger toward the projection, whether she was an accurate representation or not, as she told the baby in her arms that it should not have been born, that it would have been better had it never existed.

If that really was Eames....

Before Arthur could decide what he was going to do -- because what _could_ he do; shoot the projection of an unarmed woman and snatch the baby from her arms? -- the two of them faded away until there was nothing left in the room but Arthur and a rocking chair that was slowly ebbing to a halt.

Even though he was used to all kinds of scenarios in dreams, had been in his share of nightmares, Arthur felt a little creeped out, and so he left the room quickly once he'd decided that neither the nanny nor the baby would return. That was probably for the best. He needed to find and rescue an Eames who was an adult, not an infant.

Really, Arthur wanted to leave the house, get the hell out, but he hadn't thoroughly explored it yet, and he couldn't move on until he'd done so, for fear he would miss something.

He'd gone through one wing and the main house, and was nearly done with the other wing, was about to give up and exit, when he heard a raised male voice. Glad that he hadn't left yet, Arthur tracked down the source. It looked like a study, a room with a large wooden desk in its center, the walls lined with shelves covered in books that looked as though they had never been opened.

Inside this room was a projection of a man that Arthur recognized as being Eames' father, albeit much younger than the photo Arthur had unearthed. That made sense, because the tiny boy that the man was railing at was very obviously a miniature version of Eames, when he had been too young even for schooling, and far more vulnerable than Arthur knew him as being.

That last was of vital importance and had Arthur physically cringing at the venomous barbs falling from the lips of the projection of Eames' father. Words like "useless" and "pathetic" and "waste of meat" should never be said to any child, and especially not one as young as this tiny Eames.

Arthur had no idea whether this was a memory, he had no way of knowing whether this Eames was the real deal or a projection, but he did know that he couldn't allow this to go on. So far none of the projections had given him a second glance, as though he were nothing more than a ghost, not someone who could interact with them -- and if they were memories, that made sense -- but Arthur had a full chamber of bullets, so he could spare one. And as he shot this wretched projection of Eames' father in the head, bringing an end to his vile diatribe, Arthur had no qualms and felt no regrets.

The small boy turned a startled look on him that Arthur couldn't really decipher, perhaps equal parts terrified and grateful, and even as Arthur said, "Eames," and took a step toward him, he dashed on his little legs and made it out the room's other exit before Arthur could reach him.

He was gone by the time Arthur followed, despite the fact of Arthur's longer stride, and Arthur knew instinctively that he was done here, in Eames' ancestral home. It wasn't much of a home, he thought scornfully as he made his way down the long, overgrown drive, off to see what more limbo held. And if this was the sort of baggage weighing down Eames' subconscious, it was no wonder the man had trouble committing. Of all the traits Arthur would have expected to find deep in Eames' hindbrain, a distinct lack of self confidence wouldn't have topped his list.

He should have expected it, Arthur thought as he stumbled into the grounds of the public school Eames had attended, when he heard what Eames' classmates and teachers thought of him, when he tried and failed over and over again to get his hands on a now teenaged Eames, gangly and yet somehow beautiful, damaged but still proud. The way Eames had always brushed off compliments, even when he was so clearly deserving. The way he refused to let anyone inside, no matter how well he knew them.

Well, Arthur was inside now, inside Eames' memories and his mind, and he _would_ find Eames, he _had_ to. There was no way he was leaving Eames to wallow in limbo, to lose himself. Not when Arthur was only just starting to understand the other man.

Well, that might have been a bit optimistic. But he was determined that it not end here.

Eames kept slipping out of his grasp, however, and Arthur could never be sure he wasn't chasing a projection. Just because he _thought_ it was the real Eames, that didn't mean he _knew_. And these might only be memories after all.

Once he'd run out of school grounds to explore, Arthur was forced to head into the city. He thought it was London, but if it was, it was no part of London Arthur was familiar with. He couldn't see any landmarks, but everything was so incredibly detailed that he thought it _must_ be memory rather than imagination.

He spent a long time searching the streets and bars. Days might have passed, it might have been weeks, possibly even months, but the sky was always dark and overcast, as though it were perpetually evening. Arthur wasn't sure whether he found this disturbing or comforting, but generally he ignore the effect entirely in favor of trying to find Eames.

He'd nearly given up hope -- not given up trying, because he had years down here and he would never give up until he'd attained his goal or run through the entire lifetime ahead of him, but given up the luxury of optimism -- when he finally found Eames.

Well, in a manner of speaking. This was a young man, in his early twenties, with Eames' sharp grey eyes and crooked teeth bared in a wide grin. But he went by a different name, and he was nothing like the man that Arthur knew. He was young and brash and had gone out of his way to change his accent and his entire manner, until he was almost unrecognizable.

Arthur knew him, though. He would always know him. And he was more convinced now than he had been before that this was actually Eames, not a projection, not an echo living in a memory.

This Eames lacked the finesse of the grown man that Arthur knew, but he had a certain amount of confidence, had a certain swagger. And he didn't shy away when Arthur walked up to him in the crowded bar.

"Aging backward?" Arthur said, even though he knew that he ought to be saying something more pragmatic than that. "Who do you think you are; Merlin?"

Eames stared at Arthur blankly, and the irony of his own name hit Arthur. He might have laughed, he might have wept, he might have thrown something... but he was Arthur-who-was-not-King, and so he did none of these things.

"Do I know you, mate?" Eames asked, his drawl deliberately lower class than Arthur was used to hearing, but unmistakable curiosity in his eyes. And something else as well, as his gaze raked over Arthur from head to toe.

"Not yet," Arthur replied, and for a moment he allowed hope to rise in his heart, but then some rough sorts entered the bar and swept Eames away before Arthur could lay any sort of claim to him. And once again Arthur was left to trying to track down a phantom in the urban jungle of Eames' subconscious.

He almost had him, one more time, when he caught sight of this youthful Eames from a distance, down at the other end of a long street, in front of a narrow apartment building. He was with one of his cronies, a man taller and broader than Eames was; even now in the waking world, much less back when he had been young and slim. Arthur wasn't intimidated, nor was he particularly shocked when this young version of Eames reached up and grasped his mate by the jacket lapels, pulling the other man down into a desperate, violent kiss.

And, unfortunately, Arthur wasn't surprised when this resulted in a quick and equally violent punch in the mouth, though he _did_ wince in sympathy. Then he cursed a blue streak when Eames slammed into the vehicle Arthur hadn't noticed idling on the curb and drove away in the opposite direction from which Arthur was approaching.

Since Arthur was on foot, this meant that he immediately lost sight of his quarry. He was so enraged that he seriously contemplated shooting the thug who'd so decisively rejected Eames' advance, but that would have wasted another bullet. And at this point Arthur didn't want to do anything to risk attracting violence against his person. If he were to get himself torn to pieces by angry projections he'd only have to enter limbo again, and he felt as though he'd have to begin his whole search over again.

He came close to rethinking this after another extended period had passed, this time without a single solitary sign of Eames. No child Eames, no young Eames, no forger Eames the way that Arthur knew him....

Arthur wasn't the sort of man who gave up, but he was feeling more than a little discouraged as he came to a stop, just a pause, just resting, in a park that he found in the depths of the city. He was beginning to think that he should maybe try leaving this dream London, because Eames certainly hadn't stayed in England, but there didn't seem to _be_ anything else, and besides, Arthur felt instinctively that Eames was still somewhere here. It had been months, possibly years since Arthur had last seen him, but within the confines of _both_ their subconscious minds, Arthur was inclined to trust to what his instincts were telling him.

The park might have been cheerful, Arthur thought as he sat on a cast-iron bench, if the sun had come out. But it had been overcast the entire time he'd been in limbo, on the verge of tumbling from evening into night....

Of course, no sooner had this thought crossed his mind, but the clouds parted and a shaft of golden sunlight fell over the park, illuminating the grass until it glowed emerald, the sky rapidly lightening from dark grey to bright blue.

The shift was amazing, and immediately Arthur's mood soared, but he noticed that instead of being pleased, some of the projections around him in the park seemed disconcerted. There were mothers pushing prams and elderly couples walking hand in hand, and a loose dog or two, unleashed and red tongues flapping as they ran about, but no one seemed completely at ease. Not the way they should have in this beautiful weather.

Arthur figured that this might be the result of the sunlight being "his" rather than Eames'. He thought that he must have been here long enough now that he was affecting the topography of limbo but he couldn't bring himself to regret it. He was rapidly losing hope and he needed this boost, for as long as it lasted.

The bench was slowly warming and Arthur was slowly thawing, slowly building up the strength to carry on, to get back to searching. He wasn't about to give up, not by any means, but he did need to take a moment to regroup.

He was so deeply sunk in thought that he almost didn't notice the young girl who approached him, a concerned expression on her face. He couldn't have mistaken that face, though, nor the pigtails. She was a year or two younger than last time he had seen her, but he knew this girl.

"You look sad," she told him before he could get his tongue working, leaning over the arm of the bench and fixing him with a steady stare. He knew those wide velvet-teal eyes as well. She'd inherited them from her mother.

"Phillipa?" He wondered if this was a projection of his own, come to bolster him in his hour of need.

But then she shook her head, golden hair bobbing. "No." She was still staring at him as she moved around the arm of the bench, jumping up to sit beside him, being careful of her skirt, a scab on one knee. "I'm not Phillipa."

"Then who are you?" Arthur asked, hope beginning to glimmer in his heart, speeding up his pulse, though he tried to keep a calm demeanor.

"I don't know," she said, and she didn't sound worried by this, said it in a matter-of-fact manner. "I don't know who I am, but I know who I'm not. And I'm definitely not Phillipa."

Arthur didn't dare to mess this up, so he sat for a moment, trying to figure out what to say, wondering how he could verify his suspicion.

"Why are you sad?" the girl who wasn't Phillipa asked him, and she seemed to honestly care about his answer.

Arthur answered with the truth, because at this point there wasn't anything else he could think of that would be a better idea.

"Because my friend is hurting and I don't know how to help."

Not-Phillipa looked down at her scuffed knee for a moment, and Arthur hoped that there might be some kind of breakthrough to be had, but instead she rooted around in a pocket on her skirt and came out with a crumpled strip. "Do you need a plaster?" she asked, holding it out in a steady little fist.

Arthur chuckled a little, shaking his head. That right there, that decided him. The real Phillipa and his own subconscious were American. He was speaking to someone who had been raised in England.

"Thank you, but no. I'm afraid this is too big a hurt for a bandaid... a plaster."

She stared at him solemnly, and not wanting to lose this moment, Arthur continued talking.

"You see, my friend, he's too proud to ask for help. But he's also really easily bruised. Sometimes people don't realize the damage their words can have. Do you know what I mean?"

Not-Phillipa nodded, shook her head, then nodded again. She seemed a little confused, but she was listening closely, and Arthur allowed himself to begin to hope that it really would be this easy.

"He wanted to forget something, you see. My friend did. I don't know what it was, but it must have been really bad. But now he's forgotten everything and he's lost and I'm not sure where to find him."

"Are you looking for him?" It was a little disconcerting to hear Phillipa's voice and to know that it wasn't really her, but Arthur supposed not any more so than a projection of the girl's mother shooting him in the kneecap, courtesy of Cobb.

"Of course," Arthur replied promptly. "I've been looking everywhere, for a long time. But I'm not sure he wants to be found. I feel as though I'm playing a big game of hide-and-seek."

"It doesn't sound very fun, though."

"Well, no. Because I'm worried and I want to help my friend. He's strong and beautiful and gifted, but I don't think he knows all that." Arthur raised his eyes to the sky, watching the thick grey clouds piling up on the horizon, battling with the newly realized sunlight. He was stirring things up, true, and the projections around him were beginning to take notice of him, but that was a positive in his book. Certainly better than drifting through this dark city like a ghost, forever separate from the goal of his search.

"Sounds as though he's lucky to have you as a friend."

And that was not Phillipa's voice. That was a low, husky male voice that Arthur hadn't heard in far too long. In what felt like years, in what might have _been_ years, down here in limbo.

"Eames," he breathed, beginning to tremble with a flood of relief as he lowered his gaze and saw the forger he was used to seeing sitting beside him, rather than a small golden-haired girl.

"Is that your friend's name?"

Arthur could have cursed at this near miss, but he tamped it down. He was still making progress, had finally _found_ Eames even if the man didn't remember Arthur, didn't remember himself.

"That's _your_ name," Arthur said firmly, deciding that there was no benefit to beating around the bush. "Don't you remember?"

Eames stared at him blankly, and Arthur held his breath. He had been afraid something like this might happen. After all, things had gone wrong while some unscrupulous sorts had been trying to erase certain of Eames' memories. It made a sick amount of sense that they might have erased the wrong things.

"I just walked through a series of scenarios highlighting your life to date, Eames," Arthur protested, and he wasn't sure who he was trying to convince more, Eames or himself. "It can't be gone, you can't be lost. You just need to remember what you've forgotten."

"I'm... I'm sorry, but--" Eames began, frowning in mingled concern and confusion, but before he could finish this thought, the projections were upon them.

Perhaps Arthur should have anticipated this, he thought as he pulled out his gun and did his best to fend off their attackers. But he hadn't realized that Eames' subconscious would react so badly to his attempt. And he never would have anticipated that Eames' projections would attack them _both_ , and not just himself.

There was no way that Arthur could fight off the projections and Eames hadn't even tried. When Arthur made note that there was no way that Eames was still alive, he made use of his last bullet to follow Eames back up into the waking world.

At this point, it was all that he could do.

=+=

Arthur had a sinking feeling, even as he opened his eyes, blinking at the ceiling, trying to pull his scattered thoughts together. Spending so long in limbo, then shooting himself out had taken its toll. As he lay there a moment and just breathed, Arthur felt respect for both Cobb, who had done this twice, and Saito, who had come out of a limbo he had taken for reality and had the presence of mind to immediately place the phone call saving Cobb, even though his promise to make said call had been made a good fifty years earlier as far as his mind knew.

But Arthur quickly recovered. He had not been lost, nor had he spent as long under as those two men had, and he had a purpose. That sinking feeling was only growing and as he processed what had just happened down in limbo, Arthur realized _why_ he was feeling it.

"Shit." He sat up, ignoring the curious eyes of the people he'd hired to help him. He only had one focus, and that was the man he had gone under to save.

Now he would find out whether he had succeeded in this or not.

"Eames," he croaked, hand hovering over the man's shoulder where he lay on the bed beside Arthur. When Arthur had been in the dream-share everything had seemed so real, but it was rapidly fading away. He wasn't going to forget what he had seen, what lurked under the smooth facade Eames showed the world, but right now there was something far more vital.

"Eames, are you awake?" he asked, even as the forger's incongruously long lashes fluttered. This alone was cause for rejoicing, as Eames began to emerge from the "coma" Arthur had found him in, but there was so much more to it than that, and recalling the last half hour in limbo, Arthur was filled with a creeping dread.

This was completely justified when Eames opened his eyes and looked at Arthur with not one hint of recognition.

"Eames," Arthur breathed, but he already knew, even before he started in on the questions. Eames didn't remember Arthur, but even worse, he didn't remember _Eames_.

This was Arthur's failure, and this was something that he would sacrifice anything to repair.


	3. Chapter 3

"I don't understand," Ariadne said, and there was a lot about this situation that she didn't understand, but this one point in particular was sticking in her mind. "You say they were Eames' projections in limbo, and yet _they_ killed him? I thought they only attacked an intrusive dreamer, like you."

"They attacked me too," Arthur said, and it made Ariadne's heart ache to see him look so worn down and despondent. Of course, if things were as bad as he made them out to be, then he had plenty of reason for the long face.

Ariadne hadn't heard from her erstwhile colleagues much since the Fischer job had ended. Cobb had "retired", content to raise his kids and give up lucid dreaming. Considering how much time he had spent in limbo, twice, and how much he had lost and nearly lost, she couldn't blame him. Arthur refused to drag her into his "not legal" dealings, which she resented a little and respected more. Eames and Yusuf had vanished immediately after debarking the plane and she'd heard nothing of them since. Until now, that was. And as for Saito, he was off recovering from his lifetime in limbo and running his empire. Ariadne was actually surprised to get a birthday card from him like clockwork, because of all of them, after Yusuf, she'd really have expected he'd severe all ties.

Then again, Ariadne wasn't a criminal, and she hadn't gone that route after finishing the Fischer job. She'd worked with Professor Miles to find ways to use the PASIV technology legitimately, because that was something she couldn't give up. She kind of doubted Arthur was getting birthday cards from Saito.

At any rate, she had lost touch with all of them but Cobb, and she only emailed him once in a while, hearing from him even less. She understood that he probably wanted to put everything behind him, the world of lucid dreaming and the two lifetimes he had spent in limbo, but sometimes she just got so _excited_ by a new discovery or innovation, and needed to gush at someone who was more enthusiastic than Professor Miles, if only by a little.

"We don't really know much about how limbo works," Arthur was saying, and she felt bad when he reached up to rub wearily at his eyes, but she had him sitting on her sofa and there was tea brewing. Short of hugging him again, she doubted she could offer him any more comfort, and from the way he'd been stiff and awkward when she had embraced him earlier, when he'd turned up on her doorstep, she doubted he'd find another hug comforting rather than uncomfortable.

"Well, that's true," Ariadne allowed. She'd _been_ there, albeit briefly, and it was a mystery to her.

"The people who've been and come back with their minds intact tend to avoid talking about it," Arthur said. "The rest of us avoid going there if we can. After all, look at what happened to Mal."

Ariadne wasn't sure whether or not Arthur had worked out that Cobb had incepted his own wife, so she kept silent in that point. Arthur was so smart and so sharp that he probably had a strong suspicion even if he didn't outright know, but that wasn't the point of this conversation and it wasn't Ariadne's place to go telling tales on Cobb.

"The projections attacked both of us," Arthur repeated, scrubbing at his stubble now, and Ariadne was still a little stunned to see _Arthur_ with stubble, with strands of his normally tightly controlled hair tumbling down around his temples. "I fought back, Eames didn't. So whether they were his projections or mine, they took him out first."

"But why would his own projections try to kill him?" Ariadne asked again, because she just kept getting stuck on that point. Not that she doubted Arthur. She was sure he was telling the truth about what had happened. But she had always been driven by an innate need to _understand_ things, and this was something that she just couldn't wrap her brain around. "I mean, Fischer's projections were pretty free with the bullets once we started stirring things up, but I'm pretty sure they were aiming at us, not him. Right?"

Arthur's face twisted momentarily in an expression that she felt was something close to grief, before he regained control, plastering on a blank look that wasn't any better. "There's a reason for that," he said tightly. "But it was buried deeply inside Eames subconscious and I'm not happy that _I_ know it now. There's no way I can tell you. Sorry."

Ariadne shook her head immediately. "Don't apologize," she said sharply. "Never apologize for keeping someone's secrets. Especially to me." She grimaced. "After all, if I'd said something about how bad Mal was getting before we were locked in for the whole ten hours...."

"We'd still have had to do the job, and that was our only window," Arthur replied with a shrug. "Don't beat yourself up over that, Ariadne. You did what you could, you came along and you helped to keep Cobb sane. Do you think he'd have done so well in limbo if you hadn't been there?"

Ariadne wasn't so sure about that, but she wasn't going to go into details. She still remembered what it had been like to shoot Mal. True, she had done it out of desperation and Mal had been nothing more than a projection of Cobb's guilt and grief, but it had felt real in the dream. And Ariadne never wanted to have to kill anyone again, in or out of the dream-share.

She didn't understand Arthur's implication, that Eames was somehow... suicidal? That was the only thing that came to mind when Ariadne thought of the man's own projections tearing him apart. But that didn't mesh with the Eames that she had known. The man had never shied away from a fight or shown himself to be a coward, but he had made it clear that if the choice was between endangering himself for his colleagues and staying safe, he'd do the latter. Ariadne didn't fault him this; they had all worked together but there hadn't been a lot of loyalty built up between them. There had been some between Cobb and Arthur, true, and maybe between herself and both those men.... And she'd thought she'd seen _something_ budding between Eames and Arthur....

And that last, actually, might go a long way to explaining why Arthur had gone down into limbo after Eames, why he was sitting here begging for her help. As though she wouldn't freely offer it up.

"So what do you want me to do?" Ariadne asked, deliberately turning the conversation back to the reason Arthur had shown up here. Arthur could keep his secrets because he wasn't the only one with things to hide, and Ariadne knew better than to go prying in certain places.

"Come with me to Cobb's and help me with the dream," Arthur replied promptly, and his eyes looked brighter already.

"As an architect?"

"As a friend," Arthur replied solemnly. And it wasn't as though she'd been inclined to in the first place, but Ariadne really couldn't say no to that.

Instead she made them both tea, and they sat and began forming their plans.

=+=

"I absolutely won't go under," Yusuf told Arthur firmly.

Arthur nodded. He hadn't really expected anything different. "It wouldn't be like being in Fischer's mind," he felt compelled to say, even though he wasn't trying to convince the chemist. "I went down all four levels by myself and I was perfectly safe until I stirred things up in limbo."

Yusuf was looking at him with his full lips pressed together and a incongruously hard expression on his normally pleasant face.

"I'm not asking you to go into the dream," Arthur said, figuring it would be best to get that out there before Yusuf completely turned him down. "I just need you there to mix our sedative."

Yusuf nodded, and now he looked thoughtful. "I've been working to refine the formula since the Fischer job," he said, sitting back in his chair and folding his hands over his midsection. "To make it safer to go so deep. I could send a batch with you...."

"Please come and work with us directly," Arthur requested, hoping he didn't sound as desperate as he felt. "We have no idea what we're working with here, and I'd feel better if we had you on hand."

"The amnesia," Yusuf said, frowning faintly.

Arthur nodded, his hair bobbing loosely around his forehead. He hoped he didn't look as tattered as he was feeling, but he had the sinking sensation he looked worse. Well, if it convinced Yusuf to come to the States with him, then he supposed it was for the better.

"It's not just that," he said, clasping his hands so tightly together that his knuckles ached. "It's the fact that he was trying to deliberately forget something. It's the fact that it's not just his memories that have been erased, it's as though almost _everything_ is gone. He can't even speak, Yusuf. I'm just so afraid that we'll start and realize that we need to change something. That's why we need you there."

Yusuf didn't look convinced, but he didn't seem as though he was going to reject the request outright.

"What makes you think he's still in there?" he asked, and Arthur felt his heart clench painfully, even though he knew it was a fair question.

"All the memories were there," he said, speaking as calmly as he could when his pulse was pounding in his temples. He really needed some sleep, desperately needed to let himself relax, but he wasn't going to be _able_ to until he'd gotten Eames back and gotten whatever was wrong fixed. "I walked through several of them while I was looking for Eames. They haven't been erased. I was trying to remind him of himself when the projections killed him. I'm pretty sure that if I can take him down again and help him to remember who he is, then he'll wake the way he should be, instead of... of...."

He couldn't say it, couldn't describe what it had been like to look into Eames' beautiful grey eyes and see nothing. Not even a stranger who didn't know him, but a complete lack of personality.

It wasn't as though Eames had been completely wiped out. But he was a blank slate, waiting to be written on, and Arthur _had_ to get the real Eames back before anyone began shaping this strange new Eames. It wasn't right, and it needed to be fixed. Arthur needed to _fix_ it.

"It was my mistake," he groaned, sinking his head in his hands, and a part of him was appalled to be showing this much weakness before a man who he barely knew, a man he could only count as an ally as long as he was being paid, but he couldn't hold up his crumbling facade any longer. He just couldn't.

"I doubt that," Yusuf said softly, after a few moments of respectful silence. "I know you, Arthur, and I know how well you perform things. If mistakes were made, it was only because you did not have all the information. The second attempt is already better plotted, as you are getting some of the best involved."

Arthur looked up, hope leaping into his throat, choking him for several heartbeat, until he could ask, "Does that mean you're in?"

"You will not try to convince me to come into the dream?" Arthur shook his head. "And you will comp all my costs?" He nodded. He'd do anything, pay any amount, if it meant having a better chance at getting Eames back.

"Then I will come," Yusuf said magnanimously, gifting Arthur with a wide white smile that looked completely sincere. "Just think what it will do for my reputation if I can pull this off. And besides," he added, almost as though it were an afterthought, "I still owe Eames for bringing me the Fischer job. For all the trouble it ended up being, it did prove to be very... lucrative."

Arthur didn't care for this reminder that Yusuf had helped Cobb to conceal certain questionable aspects of the Fischer job, or that Yusuf had accepted the extra money Cobb had offered him, but he decided to focus on the fact that Yusuf was agreeing to help, here in the now.

"Thank you," he said simply, but putting as much of the emotion he was feeling into his voice as he could. "Thank you, Yusuf."

Yusuf gave him a smile that he couldn't decipher, but his dark eyes were soft. "You should not thank me until we have succeeded."

Arthur shook his head. "I'm thanking you for being willing to _try_."

=+=

Despite all of Arthur's warnings, Ariadne hadn't been prepared for how bad it would really be.

She arrived at Cobb's while Arthur was still in Kenya, trying to convince Yusuf to join them. She understood the need to get the man's help. Much like inception, they were going to be trying something that hadn't really been done before, and so it only made sense to bring a tried, tested, and brilliant chemist on board. But it was going to be a little strange, she thought, having so many of them from the Fischer job back together again.

Even stranger, though, that they weren't the same as they had been then. Arthur steadfastly refused to allow Cobb to go under, which only made sense, taking into consideration his children and the fact that he'd been to limbo twice. Yusuf might not come, and Saito wasn't funding them and overseeing with a heavy hand.

And Eames... well, not only was he filling in for the mark, not only _was_ he the mark, instead of trading acerbic barbs with Arthur and offering his remarkable insights into the working of the mind and ways to manipulate the subconscious, but he wasn't even really _here_ at all, in a manner of speaking. In every manner of speaking, as Ariadne rapidly discovered.

"Ariadne!" Cobb enfolded her in a tight hug almost as soon as she was out of her cab, something she chalked up to that fact that it had been years since they had last seen one another. She hugged him back, but she was too anxious about what they were going to be doing to really relax into it. Suddenly she thought she could sympathize with Arthur, when _she_ had hugged _him_.

"How are you doing?" she asked, giving Cobb a once over as he set her on her feet and insisted on paying the cab driver. He looked good, she thought. A little softer all over and a lot more at ease. She figured that making peace with his guilt and being back with his children had made all the difference in the world.

"Good, good," Cobb replied absently as he grabbed her bags before she could. "The kids are great. But that's not why you're here."

"That doesn't mean I don't care," she protested, trailing after him up to the house. He hadn't left her much else to do, which was okay. But that meant she didn't have any cause to put off asking, "How's... how's Eames?"

Cobb paused, his hand on the doorknob. "Arthur told you what's going on?" he asked, giving her a sharp look that she couldn't read. She'd forgotten about his tendency to squint when he got intense about something.

"I wouldn't be here otherwise," she replied tartly. "No offense."

Cobb shook his head, then bit his lower lip. "He's... doing all right. Mostly he spends time with James, and Phillipa looks after him when she gets home from school." Cobb gave a mirthless chuckle as he opened the door and ushered Ariadne inside. "Never thought I'd say this, but... I hope my son isn't corrupting Eames."

Ariadne choked a little, but she wasn't laughing. "It seems as though that ought to be the other way around."

"It would have been," Cobb said earnestly. "Before."

While Ariadne was still trying to think of something to say to this, Cobb led her to the guest room she'd be staying in, leaving her luggage on the floor at the foot of the bed.

"Eames has been staying in my room," he told her, even though she hadn't asked. "I don't dare to trust him alone right now. Once Arthur gets back, the two of them can have the other guest room. I'm afraid Yusuf will either have to take the couch or stay in a hotel."

Ariadne nodded. She was here now, and she was exhausted before they had even started. She really didn't want to, but she had to ask....

"Can I...?"

"Do you want to meet the kids?" Cobb asked, sparing her having to make the request aloud. "Eames is with them right now, so you can see how... how he's doing."

There wasn't really much of anything Ariadne wanted _less_ , but she had flown all the way here, and she was ready to help Arthur to help Eames. She couldn't prove herself a coward now.

"All right," she said. And to her credit, her voice only trembled a little.

=+=

Once Arthur showed up with Yusuf, they were ready to go. In theory. In actuality, they had virtually no idea of how to get started.

Yusuf set up a makeshift laboratory in Cobb's neglected work shed and got going on his compounds. He was still promising a sedative that would be as effective as the one he'd used on the Fischer job, but which would hopefully be less dangerous. Once he had taken Eames' vitals and spoken more with both Arthur and Cobb, he'd retreated to work in solitude, muttering to himself and making indecipherable notes on multiple pads of paper.

Cobb and Ariadne had a tendency to disappear into their own world of dream-building, even when they were in the same room. Arthur let them; that was a large part of what he had asked them to do, after all. Designing all the mazes they were going to need for multiple levels of dreaming.

That left Arthur alone to take care of Eames and look after James and Phillipa. He wasn't well suited to babysitting, but he wasn't being given a choice. He tried not to mind. Cobb could have turned him away from his doorstep, and instead he'd gone so far as to look after Eames while Arthur had been out of the country. And Ariadne had no obligation to either Arthur or Eames, was here purely out of the goodness of her heart.

Besides, James and Phillipa were good kids, Arthur reminded himself. In fact, they were such good kids that they did a greater part of the work of keeping Eames entertained and engaged.

Eames wasn't any better than he'd been before Arthur had left, Arthur didn't think. He still wasn't talking. He watched everything with a bright gleam in his eyes, but he definitely didn't recognize anyone. He had grown comfortable with Cobb and even more so the kids, but he didn't know Ariadne, and Yusuf had made him very anxious, especially when the man had taken his pulse and temperature, then done a little poking and prodding. They'd all been relieved once Yusuf had declared himself finished, and James and Phillipa had closed ranks, dragging Eames away into a corner of Cobb's bedroom, where Phillipa had read to him and James had sat in his lap until he had calmed down.

Arthur was glad to know that he had so much support, that they both did. But it was hell waiting. He couldn't rush Yusuf; this was too important. Yusuf was serious about what he was doing, to the point that he set up a cot in the work shed and didn't bother with a hotel. But still Arthur was impatient.

One thing made Arthur feel a little better, and that was how pleased Eames had seemed to see _him_ when he'd returned to Cobb's house. Eames hadn't forgotten Arthur in the time that he'd been away, even though he didn't really _remember_ Arthur, couldn't when he didn't even remember himself. But it had been gratifying. And it was as much comforting as it was disconcerting when Eames curled up close to Arthur on the sofa in the evening, when he squeezed up tightly beside him in the bed at night.

This wasn't the way Arthur had ever envisioned sharing space with Eames... but until they got Eames fixed, it would have to do. It was good to know that he brought Eames some peace and contentment, even though he couldn't stop himself fretting.

It had been only a little over forty hours since Arthur and Yusuf had joined the others at the Cobb house, less than two full days, when there came a decisive rapping at the front door.

Brows raised, Arthur went to open it. Ariadne was in the kitchen with Eames and the children, making lunch Arthur thought. And Cobb was out in the work shed, asking Yusuf some questions. So it was up to Arthur. He didn't think that Cobb was expecting any guests, so he was cautious, but he needn't have worried.

"Saito!" he blurted, eyes going wide as he took in the man standing, sleek and chic before him. Saito looked exactly as Arthur had remembered, and he wondered why he might have thought it should be any different. Eames might look completely transformed practically every time Arthur saw him, it was true, and Cobb's kids were bigger, naturally enough, but most people tended not to change much, even within the space of a couple years.

"Hello, Arthur," Saito said, his voice as smooth and silken as Arthur remembered. He'd forgotten how imposing the man could be, but they had performed inception together and that tended to make Saito seem a little less intimidating. Especially when Arthur had seen the man essentially die before his eyes, even if it had been in the dream-share and even though Saito had been another level down when it had actually happened.

"Come in," Arthur invited, noting wryly that Saito made no reference to how Arthur looked. He knew he was something of a wreck. He'd at least managed to shave and tame his hair since arriving back at Cobb's place, but he was still far from his best.

"Thank you," Saito replied and entered the Cobb house with more aplomb than a man who had to step around scattered toy cars and trucks should have possessed.

"Saito!" Cobb had just entered the living room from the back as they entered from the front.

"I would make some jest about people thinking I had forgotten my own name," Saito said as Cobb strode around the sofa to shake his hand vigorously. "But I feel that would be in very poor taste at the moment."

"Very," Arthur said sharply, but Cobb was grinning with more delight than Arthur had seen on his face in a long time. At least when his children were not involved.

"I'm so glad you could come," Cobb was saying, and something clicked.

"You called Saito?" Arthur wanted to know. "Why?"

Saito only smiled gently at Arthur, did not take offense, and Arthur was still smarting from what the man had said earlier so he didn't feel bad about his abrupt question.

"I am here to help," Saito informed Arthur. "I too have been lost in limbo and I would not wish this experience on anyone else, especially not a man who gave me advice and aid during the inception that we worked to enact together. For, even though his body is now walking and awake, the greater part of Mr. Eames is still in limbo, if what Cobb has told me is true."

Arthur didn't realize he'd been bristling until he felt the tension leave the area between his shoulderblades, melting out of his body. "Oh."

"I thought Saito might want to know," Cobb put in, and he didn't look contrite, but neither did he look smug. "I didn't think he'd come all the way here, but we need all the help we can get. Especially knowledgeable, willing help."

"I do not know that I am knowledgeable," Saito demurred. "But I am willing, and I will do what I can to provide aid. After all that we have gone through together, after all that you did for me, it did not seem that merely sending money would be enough."

"I wasn't trying to hit you up for funds," Cobb hurried to insert. "Just keeping you appraised of the situation!"

Saito bowed his head, but before any of them could say anything further, Ariadne popped into the living room out of the kitchen, her eyes wide.

"Hey, I thought I heard-- Saito!"

Arthur didn't roll his eyes, but only because he was headed into the kitchen, headed for Eames, as Ariadne darted into the living room to greet the new arrival.

The group they had collected for the Fischer job was all together again, Arthur mused. Even Saito, who he had never expected to see again, outside the pages of the newspapers.

Well, he only hoped that they could pull off something as miraculous here as they had managed when they had incepted Robert Fischer. It was going to be harder now without Eames helping, but they were doing this _for_ Eames. So, as far as Arthur was concerned, this was far more important than the Fischer job had been.

He wished that they had Eames working on this job... but if they _had_ , then that would mean that Eames was with them. And as fond as he normally was of paradoxes, this was one that Arthur was going to avoid.

Five of them remained. All of them were remarkable in their own ways.

Arthur just hoped that this was going to be enough.


	4. Chapter 4

Finally the day arrived. It hadn't taken long, but it had seemed to be forever. They were as prepared as they could be, which was to say not very, but nothing was going to be gained by waiting any longer. And all of them were concerned that the longer Eames went without his memories, without his _self_ , the harder it would be to get everything back.

They collected in the living room after breakfast. The children were out of the house, at a sitter's, even though Cobb was going to remain awake, even though whatever happened, it was going to happen in the dream-share. Not that Arthur blamed Cobb for keeping his kids as far away from lucid dreaming as possible. It had cost them their mother, and it had robbed them of their father for two years. Even if Phillipa and James didn't know this, Cobb did.

Yusuf had decided -- entirely without prompting, everyone else swore, no one having mentioned it to him -- that he _would_ do the first level.

"As long as I am not asked to drive," he added as a caveat. "And only because I've perfected the sedative so that the chance of being sent to limbo upon death is greatly reduced."

"You did a wonderful job with the driving, though," Ariadne said, even though none of them had been awake to see it.

"And even if anyone ends up in limbo, that's where Arthur is headed, with Eames," Cobb added, maybe not completely helpfully. "There's solidarity in numbers, right?"

This wasn't hugely comforting, but it wasn't untrue.

"Now that I have seen Eames like this," Yusuf said, his dark eyes softer than usual as they slid over to the man in question, "I cannot allow this to stand. I will do what I can." And maybe that was what had convinced him after all.

Saito was doing the second level, despite some mild protests on all their parts.

"I could do it all," Arthur said, trying to sound certain, even though he wasn't. "I did the first time...."

"And that went so well," Ariadne said, but she said it gently and gave his arm a little squeeze, so he let it slide. "We want to _help_ you, Arthur. We want to help you to help Eames. Please don't turn that away."

And since he needed the help, and since Ariadne had a point, Arthur shut up and let everyone get on with making and refining their plans.

"I will be fine," Saito said, so calmly that Arthur almost believed him. "I do not intend to be shot a second time. And, I will admit, that since my sojourn in limbo, I have been working to build up my defenses, shoring up my sense of self, so that I shall not be lost again."

"Don't forget that it happened even to Eames," Cobb warned, leaving out mention of his dead wife, not that Arthur could blame him for this.

Saito inclined his head, but he didn't necessarily agree. "Eames went down into the dream-share specifically to forget," Saito reminded Cobb. "Even if what he forgot may not have been what he intended. I, on the other hand, would be making an effort to remember."

No one could argue that, and they really did need his help, so there were no further protests.

Ariadne would be doing the third level, the last one before limbo, and no one was too concerned about her, even though she was young, female, and about the size of a seventh grader. Well, she had shown them all how strong she really was during the Fischer job. Strength in the dream-share was a matter of will and mind, not of the body, and Ariadne wasn't lacking in any of those areas.

"It's going to be fine, Arthur," she assured him as he carefully hooked Eames up before setting his own needle. Eames trusted him enough that he didn't even wince, though he watched Arthur's every move with the same wide-eyed, inquisitive expression he had toward life in general right now.

This "new" Eames was sort of sweet, Arthur thought. And Cobb's children had certainly grown attached. But he couldn't wait to get back the Eames that he knew, that he had come to respect and... care for. And he was going to do whatever it took to get that Eames back.

"You have all of us helping," Cobb added, fixing Arthur with a bright blue gaze. "And we'll keep going until this is done. There's no deadline this time."

Arthur didn't speak his fears, namely that they had already passed their deadline, that Eames might already be lost, his real self slipping away in the depths of limbo, never to be recovered. No one needed to hear that just before they went under, and he desperately hoped that it was not true.

Cobb cast a last look around at their group, all of them settled in comfortable chairs, and then without any further ceremony, he depressed the plunger.

"Good luck," Arthur thought he heard Cobb say, but the words were washed away in the rush of the Somnacin entering his system and his unending tumble down into the dream that they all shared.

=+=

None of them were really sure what to expect from Eames' subconscious. They hadn't dared to take him under for practice runs because they didn't know what the effect would be on his brain. It had to be all or nothing.

Now they were in the first level, in Yusuf's carefully crafted dream, and Arthur's first priority was to find Eames.

Yusuf's level was a hospital not unlike the one where Arthur had found Eames, not that Eames had ever been awake to see it. By prior arrangement, they would all be meeting in a private room with four empty beds and a PASIV device. Yusuf would be dressed as a doctor, and the hope was that four people lying there sound asleep would pass more easily in a wing where there were already several coma patients, would avoid raising the suspicion of any projections that happened across them.

That was the rendezvous point, but Eames couldn't know that, and so there was no sign of him. Arthur wasn't surprised, but he also wasn't going to rest until he had Eames' hand in his own, until he could be sure Eames knew that he was safe with Arthur.

Of course, there was a small part of Arthur that fervently hoped once they were in the dream that Eames would magically come back to himself....

But when he found Eames sitting on one of the uncomfortable benches in the lobby, watching people move around him with that familiar curious but detached expression, Arthur knew that they would not be so lucky.

Still, he'd found Eames, and that was what was important.

The projections in the hospital, which _must_ be Eames' because everyone else was suppressing their own, gave Arthur a little more hope. They were a little sparse, only a nurse here, a visitor there, but they were normal and seemed real, and that meant that some part of Eames' subconscious still functioned normally, still knew what to expect in this scenario.

"Come on, Eames," Arthur said softly, reaching and taking Eames by the hand, and literally leading him to the meeting room.

Yusuf had the PASIV device out and ready to go by the time they got there. Ariadne and Saito were still out, presumably looking for Eames as well, so Arthur backtracked to the nearest nurse's station and paged them. There was no sign of any nurse, but that actually worked in his favor, Arthur thought, and he really hoped that they would remain unmolested by Eames' projections. After all, aside from simply _being_ here, they weren't really going to be changing anything. Not on this level, anyway.

Once they were all stretched out on their respective hospital beds and hooked in, Yusuf gave them one last, sharp look, a quick nod, and then he sent them under.

=+=

Saito's level was smaller, because the deeper they got the less need they expected to have for attempted concealment.

His dream was a resort, sun-beaten and brightly colored. There were hammocks and patio chairs, there was sand and the bright gleam of seawater at the horizon. The air smelled of salt and tropical blossoms. Arthur's skin would have burned to a bright pink within ten minutes if this had been reality and not a dream.

This time Eames was already beside him, sliding his hand into Arthur's with a shy smile, and it was Ariadne that they had to wait for. Saito found them almost immediately, but it took Ariadne almost ten minutes to track them down. Not that they didn't have the time, but Arthur was feeling impatient.

"Sorry," Ariadne said with a little grimace.

"You designed this place," Arthur felt the need to point out, though he tried to do it without sounding too judgmental.

She shrugged, looking exotic and colorful in the boldly patterned tropical print dress she was wearing, a matching orchid sitting bright in her dark hair. "I know. But I think Saito must have dreamed in some additions to my maze."

She shot the man in question a suspicious glance. Saito only smiled, his dark skin warmed by the sunlight. "We should get moving," he said smoothly, not addressing the issue at all, and Arthur decided to cut Ariadne a little slack. And, after all, Saito was here voluntarily, so he could have his secrets. Arthur didn't have time to try to worm them out of him.

Saito led them to a private lounge, which was shaded but had an open view of the ocean on one side. As in the hospital, there were a few projections around, wearing skimpy swimwear, tanned or burned, all of them enjoying themselves, and none of them paying an inordinate amount of attention to their dwindling team.

"I am certain of your success," Saito said as they all settled down in chase lounges, Eames still clinging to Arthur's hand between their two chairs. So far his demeanor had not changed from what it was while waking, and so Arthur was more convinced than ever that taking him back into limbo was his only option.

Then Saito pushed the button decisively, and they all slid away into the sound of waves on the sand.

=+=

Ariadne's level was a literal maze. A garden maze, created from neatly trimmed bushes and the occasional wrought iron gate.

There were no projections around at all, but this didn't set Arthur's mind at ease.

"You're armed?" he asked Ariadne as she set up the PASIV device on a blanket in the small clearing at the center of her maze.

She smirked, straightening and stepping to one of the leafy walls. She tugged, and a good sized chunk of the wall came loose, opening as though it had been a cupboard door instead of a bush. Arthur did love being in Ariadne's dreams, because she didn't just create variations of reality; she took reality and made it magical, made the impossible happen.

Behind this green square was a veritable arsenal.

"Honestly, I don't think I'll need any of this," she said, tilting her head and pausing. The only sounds were the light breeze in the branches around them and a few birds singing distantly. "But if I do, I'll keep you both safe until we all wake."

Arthur nodded. Of all of them he trusted Ariadne the most, so if she said she had his back he was sure that she had it.

"Thank you," he said, because he'd be able to do better work down in limbo for knowing that he didn't have to worry about what was happening up top.

"Just get him back," Ariadne instructed.

"I will."

=+=

Eames had spent more time in limbo than Arthur had, it was true, but Arthur thought that this time the scenario might be more of a joint creation. Especially now that he was here with intent, with something specific in mind.

When he been here the first time, Arthur had found himself running through Eames' life beginning with childhood and working outward. He was making this up as he went along, flying by the seat of his pants so to speak, but he thought that a good start might be to do the opposite of that this time. Deliberately.

And if that didn't work, then maybe he'd try it the other way.... But right now he was forcing himself to think positive, to believe that this was going to work, the way he was doing it, the first time he tried it.

Ariadne had said that when she and Cobb had entered limbo they'd both been washed ashore by huge, crashing waves. She'd taken it as a literal manifestation of Cobb's rather poetic "shores of our unconscious". Arthur was glad that he and Eames were evidently a good deal more pragmatic than that, even at a subconscious level.

The first time he had entered Eames' personal limbo Arthur had come to in the overgrown garden of the man's family mansion. But that might have been because that was where baby Eames had been.

This time Arthur was exerting what control he could over a place that was made up entirely of their subconscious. He didn't expect to be entirely successful, but he couldn't just enter it blindly, as he had done last time.

Arthur was almost expecting to have to search years for Eames. But here the man was, hand in hand with Arthur as he opened his eyes.

They were in the bed they'd been sharing in Cobb's house, lying side by side. And this was the hugest triumph Arthur could have imagined outside of actually getting Eames back to how he had been before the botched "eradication". Planning, as he was, to work backward through Eames' memories until he'd either found the problem area, or simply reminded Eames of them all.

He still wasn't quite sure what he was doing, but he was off to a pretty decent start.

"Come on, Eames," he said, rising off the mattress and tugging Eames up with him. Eames obeyed easily and placidly, as he followed all of Arthur's orders now. It made things more simple, it was true, but it jarred, every single time.

Cobb's house was empty and silent. No children, no team members hooked up to a PASIV device. Just Arthur and Eames, walking hand in hand through quiet rooms.

It should have been eerie, but to be honest, Arthur found it strangely comforting. He was forever grateful to Cobb for all of his assistance, and his kids had been wonderful to Eames, but Arthur really didn't need any projections of them wandering around, given flesh out of his subconscious.

They stepped out the front door, and instead of the sloping green lawns around Cobb's house, there was a large hospital looming before them.

Arthur knew what was waiting inside. This wasn't the hospital that Yusuf had dreamed up on the first level; this was literally the hospital where Arthur had found Eames. Evidently they were bypassing the seedy hotel room where Arthur had tried and failed to wake Eames from limbo the first time, and he was just as glad.

"Eames," he said, turning to fix the silent man beside him with a steady stare. "I want to show you something. Will you come with me?"

He knew already that if he led, Eames would follow. But it was suddenly vital that he gain explicit permission.

Eames stared back for long moments, and Arthur was so afraid of seeing only blankness, of only _ever_ seeing blankness forever, as it had been in the waking world whenever anyone had asked Eames a question.

But then something in those clear grey eyes flickered, and Eames nodded. He was still largely uncomprehending, Arthur thought, and he didn't seem very certain of his response, but it was more than Arthur had gotten out of him since waking him from limbo, and it made his heart pound with unrestrained hope.

"Thank you," he said simply, and squeezing Eames' hand, still in his, he led him toward the hospital.

=+=

Lying still and pale upon the bed, Eames looked exactly the same as he had when Arthur had found him. Arthur recalled the forger teasing him about his lack of imagination, and when faced with this silent proof, he could hardly argue.

He tightened his hand around Eames' again, feeling the other man's fingers warm and solid in his own. Last time he had been here in limbo he'd felt almost like a spectator, walking through Eames' memories, unable to affect any changes. Well, except for when he'd shot the boy's father, and that hadn't really done anything but chase tiny Eames off.

This time, probably because this was as much his own subconscious as it was Eames', and because he felt so strongly about showing things to Eames, they were both here, and yet there was a projection of Eames on the hospital bed as well. It didn't seem as strange as it maybe should have. Arthur knew which one was the real Eames.

"This is where I found you," he informed Eames quietly, moving an inch or two closer even at the same time that he loosened his crushing grip on Eames' hand. "I know you won't remember this, though, because you were unconscious for all of it."

Eames didn't say anything, but his fingers flexed inside Arthur's. When Arthur loosened his hold even more, reluctantly but unwilling to do anything against Eames' will, Eames moved his hand only enough to lace their fingers together. Both their hands tightened together at once after this.

"Come on," Arthur said after a moment, because he couldn't bear to see that lax face and limp form any longer. There was no help here, anyway. They were going to have to move onward.

Or, as it were, backward.

=+=

Arthur led Eames to the elevator and pressed the button for the top floor. It might not make any sense, but limbo was as much a dream as any other level; things didn't have to make _sense_ here, they just _were_. And he knew where he was going.

He didn't want to go there. He really, really didn't want to go there. But if he was going to help Eames remember himself, he couldn't shy away from scenes that he found unpleasant, that he was deeply ashamed of.

They emerged from the elevator into the cheaply furbished, aggressively anonymous hallway of an office building. The walls were cream-colored stucco, the carpet a faded taupe, and the one lonely potted plant had never been anything but plastic.

Eames seemed strangely reluctant as Arthur led him down this silent hallway. Florescent bulbs buzzed overhead, but the shadows lay heavy in the corners. It wasn't as though Arthur liked this any better than Eames. Probably less, because he _knew_ what to expect when he opened the door at the end of the hall.

It looked even worse from the outside, Arthur thought analytically, trying not to really process the scene before him. His hands were large where they rested on Eloise's slim waist, and from their position in the doorway, it definitely looked as though the kiss had been as much Arthur's idea as it had been hers.

Instead of watching as both their eyes turned toward him -- because there was very little that was more disconcerting than seeing a projection of oneself behaving independently -- Arthur looked at Eames, where he stood beside him.

Eames was white, but not quite as distressed as Arthur remembered him being. And that image was emblazoned in his mind's eye, so he knew he was looking at something different, not quite as bad.

"I'm sorry," he said, drawing Eames' attention from the two projections before them, who were kissing again, Arthur could see out of the corner of his eye. Like some horrible loop, like a skipping record. "I'm really sorry you had to see that again. But I can't be sure what's important, Eames. And I wanted to tell you that I didn't mean it. That _she_ kissed me. Granted, I didn't push her away the way I should have done, but...."

He trailed away, not sure how much he wanted to give away right now, but before he could figure it out, the two projections melted away as though they had never existed, leaving the room empty and now meaningless.

Arthur wasn't sure what that signified, whether this was a good thing or not, but either way they were done here, and it was time to move on.

This time he didn't so much lead Eames to the elevator as walk beside him. Arthur really hoped it wasn't just wishful thinking on his part that Eames seemed more _present_ than he had since they'd awoken from limbo the first time.

This time they went to the ground floor. And it was Eames who tugged at Arthur, pulling him around the corner and toward a large building that Arthur was really unhappy to see, but all too familiar with.

"Dammit," he breathed, because he supposed he shouldn't have expected that they could give this place a miss. It was Rodgers' house, and if Arthur squinted, he could make out the small camera he had placed on the telephone pole across the street from the property. That was from his own subconscious, he knew, since Eames had never been aware of it. The house, though... he suspected that was here because of Eames. He just wasn't sure _why_.

Eames walked boldly up to the house, as though he belonged there, and since their hands were still laced together, Arthur had no choice but to follow. He had to admit to being morbidly curious, no matter how trepidatious he felt at the same time.

Instead of entering by the front door, as Arthur had expected, since that had been the way Eames had left, the forger led Arthur around the opposite corner, into the side door of the garage.

There was the shiny red Mercedes that Rodgers had been killed in, Arthur thought, as Eames released his death grip on Arthur's hand, and Arthur searched for the overhead light switch. By the time he found it, Eames had the hood of the car propped open, and he was bent over, fiddling with something inside the engine.

"Eames!" Arthur blurting, crossing and dragging Eames out by one shoulder. Eames met his surprised gaze with a stony stare that almost, _almost_ looked like his old self. "You sabotaged Rodgers' car?" Arthur continued, because he had never suspected the accident to be anything but, well, an accident. "Couldn't you have waited until after we finished the job?"

He didn't really expect an answer, and he didn't really get one. Eames seemed to lose interest in the Mercedes, heading instead for the door into the house itself. Arthur hurried to catch up, grasping at Eames' hand. There was a streak of grease across Eames' knuckles, and Arthur could feel him trembling faintly even though his steps were firm enough.

Arthur had no idea what was going on, but he had a powerful feeling that whatever he was about to see, it might be the key to this whole debacle.

It occurred to him belatedly as Eames led him toward what was evidently Rodgers' bedroom, past the man's bodyguards, who stood to attention in the hall and paid them no attention, that Eames had been trying to erase something from his memory. Something that had been so bad that he'd been willing to work with men he wouldn't have given the time of day to otherwise. Something that was so bad he'd wanted to _eradicate_ it.

This should have set off warning bells in Arthur's mind from the very beginning, he thought. He'd been so distracted by the damage that had been done that he'd given practically no thought to the reason why any of this had happened in the first place.

Arthur was usually better prepared than that, more aware. But then, he wasn't sure anything could have prepared him for the sudden horrifying realization that he had completely misunderstood the situation, and that Eames had never had _consensual_ sex with their mark, that he had obviously been drugged and dragged home from the opera; or perhaps the other way around, considering the presence of the two huge bodyguards, but that hardly mattered.

"You see now, why he had to die," Eames growled, low and intense in Arthur's ear, and he turned, glad to have something else to look at, something to distract him from the scene inside Rodgers' bedroom.

He had thought that when he could hear Eames' voice again, when he could look Eames in the eye and see _Eames_ there, that it would be the sweetest triumph ever.

But now, meeting that intent gaze, knowing that he had Eames back the way he had been before his first stay in limbo, Arthur only tasted bitterness and defeat.

"I'm so sorry," he said brokenly.

Eames shook his head, and his hand was still in Arthur's, his gaze still steady where he met Arthur's eyes. He didn't seem inclined to break away, and Arthur wouldn't have let him if he'd tried. "How could you have known?"

"I should have known," Arthur protested. "I'm not stupid, I _know_ you, I could tell something was wrong, I should have figured it out."

"I didn't want you to," Eames said, his voice calm and even, where Arthur's was breaking all over the place. His forehead was furrowed, however, in a deep frown, so he wasn't unaffected. "God, Arthur, I never wanted you to know about this. I wanted to forget. That's why I tried to get it erased."

Arthur nodded silently. There were a hundred things to say, so much between them that he needed to clarify, but this was not the time.

"Eames," he said, not at all embarrassed by how shattered he sounded. "Will you come back to the waking world with me, and try to fix this? Try to fix _us_?"

Eames' brows rose and he looked honestly startled. "Us?"

"Can there still be an 'us'?" Arthur asked, feeling his heart ache in his chest so badly that he was afraid it would stop beating.

After a long, expanded moment Eames nodded. "I.... Yes?" He gave Arthur a weak smile, then squeezed the hand he was still holding. "So... do you want to go for a ride?"

Arthur had never felt less like smiling in his life, but he returned the squeeze. "I think I'd prefer that over a bullet to the head," he replied honestly.

Then, because he didn't want there to be any confusion over his intentions, and because he was still stinging from viewing his own clinch with Eloise from Eames' point of view, he pressed forward and stole a quick kiss.

And Eames let him, which gave Arthur hope.

He wasn't going to screw this up a third time. They were going to fix things, and they were going to fix them together.


	5. Chapter 5

Once Arthur and Eames blinked awake, Cobb moved to quickly shut down the PASIV device. There was no more need for any of the others to be under any longer with the job done, with their task completed.

"How'd it go?" Cobb asked breathlessly as Yusuf, Saito, and Ariadne began to stir.

"Good," Arthur said, maybe not entirely accurately. But he'd brought Eames back with his memories, his personality intact, and since that had been the goal, he wasn't going to split hairs. The intricacies of the whole situation was something that he was going to have to work out with Eames later.

As long as Eames was willing to work things out with him.

"Eames?" Ariadne ventured, peering at the forger as all of them sat up. "Are you... _you_?"

Eames scrubbed his eyes, then stared down at the tubing running from his wrist as though it was something he'd never seen before, and Arthur felt his stomach twist. But then Eames raised his gaze and his eyes were sharp and aware.

"I am," he said softly, his voice hoarse from disuse. "Do I have all of you to thank for that fact?"

His gaze swept over their reassembled team, and Arthur knew him well enough to see that Eames was surprised and touched, even though he was clearly trying to keep his emotions off his face.

"It was my pleasure," Saito replied before anyone else could. He moved smoothly to his feet, and offered Eames his hand for a brief clasp. "I shall be on my way now, but I am most gratified to see you back in the waking world."

"Thank you for your help," Eames husked, and he spoke the words with a fervent honesty.

"Hang on!" Cobb protested, following Saito as the man swept out of the room. As though he was going to be able to compel him to stay or even pause if he did not choose to do so. Saito was like a force of nature; he came and went as he liked and did what he wished. Arthur was grateful to have had his help with this, and he hoped to someday have the chance to repay the man, but he wasn't going to make the mistake of thinking he could hold onto him.

The debt he owed Saito, however, was secondary to the debt Arthur owed Eames. Eames may already have absolved Arthur of blame when they had been in limbo, but Arthur knew better.

That decision wasn't Eames' to make, because Arthur should have known. In fact, he _had_ known something was wrong, but he had _ignored_ that fact, focusing instead on his own hurt feelings and bitterness. Completely misplaced emotions, as it had turned out, because not only had Eames not done what Arthur had thought he had done, but he'd _had it done to him_ , completely against his will. Which made Arthur feel even worse. He didn't think there was any way he could have felt worse.

"I'm so glad," Ariadne was saying, and she swooped forward to hug Eames tightly. She wasn't generally a very demonstrative person, but Arthur could hardly blame her. He felt like holding Eames tightly himself, and never letting go. He couldn't, though. He had no right.

"It's good to see that you are back behind your eyes again," Yusuf said softly, his smile wide and honest.

"I never would have thought I'd see you here," Eames said over Ariadne's head. He sounded better and more alert with every word he spoke. And he did sound surprised to see Yusuf.

Yusuf shrugged. "The price was right."

And with this cryptic utterance, because Arthur hadn't done anything more than comp him for his travel costs, his time, and the price of the chemicals he had used, Yusuf departed much the same way Saito had done. Although, he was just headed for Cobb's work shed to get packed up; he wasn't out the door and on his way as quickly as a certain Japanese millionaire with cars and helicopters and jets at his command.

"How much do you remember from before?" Ariadne asked, releasing Eames and sitting back in her chair. Her gaze was bright and curious, and as usual she was slightly lacking in tact. It was kind of an important question, though, so Arthur didn't chide her for it. Not that it would have been his right to do so... but that might not have stopped him, with as protective toward Eames as he was feeling.

"Most of it, I think," Eames said, and he cast his eyes down at his hands, clasped in his lap. He looked more like himself, but he still had a long way to go, Arthur thought ruefully. "It's hazy and foggy, though. Like a dream. Or, rather, like a dream would be before I started using Somnacin."

Ariadne nodded, her expression thoughtful.

"The kids are going to miss you, the way you were," Cobb said, appearing in the doorway. Or maybe he'd been there a while; Arthur wasn't exactly paying attention to anyone other than Eames right now. "That's not to say I'm not thrilled we got you back," Cobb hastened to add, when Eames raised his head and Arthur and Ariadne turned to glower at him. "Because I am."

Arthur forgave Cobb a little as he stepped into the room and gave Eames a hand up, then tugged him into a quick but tight hug. He was also more than a bit jealous of the fact that both Ariadne and Cobb had gotten to hold Eames in their arms before he had... but that was something that he had only himself to blame for.

"Let's go into the kitchen," Cobb suggested. "I don't know about any of the rest of you, but I could use some coffee."

"We'll join you shortly," Arthur said, as he and Ariadne rose. Ariadne headed for the door, and after giving Arthur a small nod, Cobb did the same. Arthur stepped over to stand beside Eames.

"Can you give me a rundown of what happened?" Eames asked quietly, leaning slightly toward Arthur. When Arthur very carefully placed a hand on his shoulder, Eames bowed his head, and then they moved at once, stopping when Arthur's arm was wrapped around Eames' waist and Eames' forehead was pressed against Arthur's collarbone.

They had slept in the same bed, curled together, the whole time Eames had been lost in the limbo of his own subconscious, but this was the closest Arthur had been to Eames when the man was _himself_. He could appreciate it at the same time that he was sad that it had taken so much to bring them to this point, so many disasters and near disasters.

"When I found out what had happened, I tracked you down in the hospital where those bastards dumped you," Arthur said, since he didn't think Eames needed him to go any further back than that. "I went down into limbo to try to find you, but you'd forgotten yourself, and the projections down there killed us before I could remind you who you were. So once you were awake, you were still lost. I asked Cobb to take care of you while I went and talked Ariadne and Yusuf into coming to help. Saito showed up on his own, but I'm glad he did. I guess Cobb was the one who contacted him."

Eames nodded and his hair tickled the underside of Arthur's jaw.

"But why?"

"Why what?"

Eames raised his head and took a step back. Arthur missed his warmth immediately. "Why did you help? Why go out of your way.... Why follow me down to _limbo_ , twice?"

Arthur could feel the skin around his eyes puckering, knew he looked mournful, didn't try to disguise it. "I thought we were... something," he said. It was tough, putting it out here in words like this, but it wasn't as though he hadn't already proven it by his actions. "I thought at least that we were... friends?"

Eames stared at him and Arthur tried to look as convincing as possible... but he kind of thought that the fact that he'd gone down to limbo for Eames twice would speak for itself. Not that they didn't have a lot to talk about. But Arthur felt that he'd proved everything he needed to prove. It was up to Eames to believe in him, to trust him.

"Give me a chance," he entreated, though he tried to couch it as a reasonable request, rather than the plea that it was. Still, he had no pride left where Eames was concerned, so he just put it out there. "Please."

Eames blinked slowly, then gave him a tiny smile that _almost_ looked real. "How could I do anything else?" he asked, and if he had tried to speak the words lightly, he failed.

That wasn't exactly a ringing endorsement, but Arthur would take it for now.

"Coffee?"

"Yeah," Eames said, and his smile got a little larger, a little more real. "Feels like I've been sleepwalking for... a long time."

"You're awake now," Arthur offered, and when he slid his fingers around Eames' on their way into Cobb's kitchen, when Eames didn't pull his hand away, he took this as a quiet triumph. Even though there was so much ground yet to recover, right now he would take whatever he could get.

Right now, in this moment, this was enough.

=+=

Ariadne had to avert her eyes when Arthur and Eames walked into the kitchen hand in hand. It was sweet, and she was so glad for them both that they seemed to have this, after all that they had been through -- together and separately -- but it just struck her as too intimate, too personal for others to see.

She still wasn't quite sure what it was that the two men _were_ to one another, where they might be going, but that wasn't her business, was it? She sincerely hoped that whatever it was, they made it work. She thought they could be good for one another. Certainly, Arthur had done what it had taken to get Eames back when he'd been lost in limbo. That had to count for something, right?

"How are you feeling?" she asked Eames, handing him a mug and stepping out of way so that he and Arthur could get at the coffee maker.

"I'm not sure yet," he said, and he and Arthur weren't holding hands any longer, but they definitely remained within one another's personal space as they helped themselves to coffee and sat at the kitchen table with Ariadne. Cobb was digging in the fridge. Ariadne didn't think any of them were hungry, but Cobb seemed restless. Getting Eames back had seemed almost anticlimactic, for those of them who hadn't gone down into limbo, but she was glad it had been accomplished with so little fuss.

There was something else wrong, she suspected. Something that Arthur hadn't told her about. After all, there had to have been a _reason_ that Eames had ended up in limbo the first time. Especially if he had been trying to erase memories. No one as well versed in the ways of the dream-share as Eames was would do something like that lightly.

Well, maybe Arthur hadn't known what it was that had driven Eames to his ill-fated attempt. She wondered, if Arthur hadn't known before, whether he knew now, whether he had found anything out in limbo. It wasn't any of her business, of course, but that didn't stop her being curious.

"Well, we're glad you're back," Cobb said, turning with a wheel of cheese in one hand and a jar of green olives in the other. It hadn't been long since they'd had breakfast, but it seemed to make him feel better, playing the host like this. Ariadne smiled fondly as she watched Cobb putter around, getting out a plate, a cutting board, some crackers....

Domestic life was good for him, she thought. He'd been so uptight, so manic during the Fischer job. He'd left most of her training up to Arthur, which had probably been a good idea, since Ariadne hadn't enjoyed being killed by Mal. Now Cobb was in his element, at home with his kids -- even if they weren't home here right now -- and he was much the better man for it.

"Happy to be back," Eames mumbled into his mug, and Ariadne was pretty sure that underneath the table top his other hand had crept into Arthur's.

It might be true that James and Phillipa would miss Eames the way he had been when they had met him, but Ariadne was just glad to have had a part in bringing him back to himself. That she'd had a hand in this, no matter how small, made her feel good.

If only she could be sure that Eames was going to be okay from here on out....

But Arthur would take care of that part of it. She had faith in the man, and she was sure that it wasn't misplaced.

Arthur was going to take care of Eames. Ariadne was sure of this.

=+=

James and Phillipa weren't too disappointed to find that Eames was different than they had left him, for which Dom was grateful.

"He's a grown up, and now he acts like one," James told Dom as he tucked his son into bed that night. "That's a good thing, right, Dad?"

"That's definitely good," Dom replied.

"Did Uncle Arthur fix whatever was wrong with Eames?" Phillipa asked, and it figured that she was smart enough to have worked it out, even though none of them had breathed a word about Eames being in any way damaged when they were around the kids.

"He did," Dom assured her. There was more to it, he was pretty sure, and a part of him was waiting for the other shoe to drop, but Eames was back from limbo, he knew who he was, and he was able to function again. That was what was most important.

"Will they be leaving soon?" Phillipa asked, stretching up to give Dom a kiss on the cheek.

"I'm afraid so," he said, giving her a tight hug. Right now Phillipa and James were still sharing a room, even though the house had one for each of them. Dom supposed that would have to change as his daughter got closer to puberty, but for now they kept one another company and sharing a room kept them from spending too many nights crawling into _his_ bed. "I think that Uncle Arthur and Eames need some alone time. They've got a lot they need to talk about."

Thankfully neither of his children asked _what_ they needed to talk about. Instead, Phillipa queried, "Will they be coming back to visit?"

"I'll invite them to Christmas," Dom told her. "I can't promise they'll come, but I can ask."

He thought it was unlikely, but for the sake of his kids he'd give it a try. He wasn't even sure whether it would be "Arthur and Eames" by that point.... He'd sort of thought by the end of the Fischer job that the two of them had been on their way to being something, and they _had_ worked a lot of jobs together... but then something had seemed to happen.

Well, whatever had happened, good or bad, Dom was certain of one thing. Arthur had his priorities in order now, and his first priority was _Eames_. It would remain to be seen whether Eames responded well to this or not.

Either way, Dom was glad that Eames was back and that James and Phillipa weren't upset by this fact.

Because Dom has his own number one priority, and that was his children. That was the only way it could be, and the only way it should be.

=+=

"So where do we go from here?" Eames asked. "Physically, I mean. We're not staying at Cobb's past tonight, are we?"

Eames was sitting on the edge of the bed they had been sharing, and Arthur wasn't sure whether or not he ought to offer to go and sleep on the sofa. There were a lot of things he wasn't sure about, but he did know one thing. Eames had just said "we", indicating that he didn't intend to take off on his own and leave Arthur hanging.

Eames would have been well within his rights to do so, Arthur thought. He didn't really owe Arthur anything. It was true that Arthur had gone down into limbo to fetch Eames, twice. But Eames hadn't _asked_ him to do so. That had all been Arthur's own initiative.

Still, he thought that his willingness to do so must surely have been a clear indicator of his feelings, his emotions. So maybe Eames was a little more willing to remain and work things through.

"I'm not sure," he replied honestly, because he hadn't thought past the point of getting Eames back. "I doubt Cobb wants us staying much longer than we already have, and to be honest I don't want to stay long either."

Eames nodded, his expression serious. Arthur was never going to get tired of looking at him and seeing Eames looking back, he didn't think. Eames looked just like he had before going under, his hair a wild mess, dressed for comfort rather than fashion, but that was all fine, since they were about to go to bed.

Not that Arthur was sleepy. And Eames didn't look tired at all either.

"Are you...." He didn't want to ask, because that courted an answer in the negative, but he needed to know. "Are you going to stay with me... while we work things out?"

"You did say that in limbo, didn't you?" Eames asked. His hands were clasped between his thighs, tightly enough that his knuckles were whitening. "I didn't imagine that. You asked me...."

"I asked you for a chance." Arthur was standing before the bed, struggling not to pace but burning with an overabundance of energy. "Will you give me a chance, Eames?"

There was so much they needed to talk about. Not just the potential that had existed between the two of them, which Arthur had almost destroyed, though that was foremost in Arthur's mind. But there was also the fact that Eames had been drugged and raped by Rodgers, even if he probably didn't like to use that word in his own head. He also probably wasn't going to want to talk about it, but Arthur had a feeling that they were going to need to. That wasn't the sort of thing that could be swept under the carpet. Not when it had eaten away at Eames so badly that he'd gone to the extreme of trying to get it excised from his memory entirely, even knowing full well how dangerous that attempt could prove to be.

Next to that the flirting and the kiss that Arthur had shared with Eloise paled into near insignificance, but it _wasn't_ insignificant. And that was another thing that Arthur was going to have to discuss with Eames. He'd already sort of explained and apologized in limbo, but he wasn't sure that Eames would remember that, because it had been before he had really come back to himself. And Arthur wanted to make _sure_ that Eames knew what had happened and why and that he hadn't meant it.

"I already told you yes," Eames said softly, but he didn't sound annoyed, he sounded uncertain.

"Then I suggest we choose a destination together." Arthur felt a little breathless with relief, but mostly his brain was beginning to hum with ideas and plans. None of them fully realized yet, but that was why he wanted to get Eames' input.

"Somewhere warm," Eames immediately said. "And not too crowded."

"All right, that narrows it down a little," Arthur nodded. He meant that seriously, not facetiously.

"Arthur?"

"Yes?" His attention snapped immediately to Eames.

Eames was giving him the tiniest hint of a smile, the corners of his mouth tugging upward just a little, even though his eyes were dark and serious.

"Please stop pacing, darling. You're going to drive me mad."

Arthur froze where he was. He had been trying so hard not to pace, but evidently when his mind had started wandering, his body had begun moving.

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize." Eames looked pained for a moment, then he unclasped his hands to pat the mattress beside him. "Come and sit."

"Is it all right?" Arthur asked, already moving. If Eames was offering the invitation, he wasn't about to refuse it.

"We've been sharing a bed for some time now, haven't we?" Eames asked, as Arthur sank down next to him, allowing a couple of inches between them just to be safe, just in case he'd misinterpreted. Even though he very much wanted to press in close to Eames and hold him tight. "My memories of the last few days is hazy, but I _do_ remember that."

"I hope you're not upset--" Arthur began but Eames was already shaking his head, almost before the words had begun leaving his lips.

"I'm not incredibly thrilled to have had to share a bed with Cobb while you were away," Eames said, and that tiny smile was back, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Although I do recognize the necessity. But I.... Of course I don't mind having slept with you."

Arthur could feel his ears heating, which was ridiculous when they were both grown men, when Eames had certainly not meant it in a sexual way, and when there were so many barriers between the two of them yet.

"What about tonight?" he asked, trying to speak in a calm, level voice, trying to make the question clinical and not personal, but well aware that he wasn't succeeding in this, at all.

"You're not...." Eames bit his lower lip, hard, then sucked in a deep breath and met Arthur's eyes with a determination that made Arthur's heart ache to see. "You're not going to make me sleep alone, are you?"

"No," Arthur burst out immediately, not needing to even think about his reply. "No, unless you kick me out. Eames, I'm here. I just didn't want to make assumptions. I've already done too much of that."

He didn't add _with near disastrous results_ but he could have done.

Eames didn't say anything in response to this, but he did reach over and hesitantly close his fingers around Arthur's hand, his grip light in case Arthur pulled away.

Arthur didn't, of course. He twisted his wrist and clasped Eames' hand within his own. And maybe it should have felt a little weird, sitting here on a bed with Eames and simply holding hands, but he thought that they both felt a deep and intense need to connect. Neither of them was comfortable enough yet to just wrap their arms around one another, even though Arthur was fairly sure that this was what both of them truly wanted, but at least they had this.

They would get there. Arthur promised himself this, and he was pretty sure that in one way or another, he had promised Eames the same in the dream-share, in limbo.

Now that he was off his feet and was certain that wherever Eames went next Arthur would be with him and vice versa, Arthur suddenly felt all of his energy drain away, leaving him sapped and spent.

Eames seemed to recognize this, almost before Arthur did, and his hand tightened around Arthur's in a careful but extended squeeze.

"Shall we retire for the night?" he asked, his voice still rumbling hoarsely in his throat, after so many days spent not speaking. Arthur wondered if it was too late to sneak into Cobb's kitchen to brew some soothing tea... but Eames' eyes were growing heavy-lidded as well, and it was looking increasingly likely that neither of them was going to have any trouble falling asleep if they went to bed now.

Suddenly a million words bubbled up in Arthur's chest, making his ribcage burn with the effort of containing them all. He wanted to thank Eames, for coming back, for giving him a second chance, for sharing the bed with him, for being who he was, for so much more. He wanted to tell Eames that everything was going to be okay, that they'd deal with the damage Rodgers had done together, that he had never meant anything he had said to or done with Eloise. He wanted to make sure that Eames knew exactly how he felt about him, that Eames had no doubts about them, that Eames had no doubts about Arthur or about himself. He wanted to beg Eames to promise him he would never put himself in danger again, that he would never enter limbo again.

But he couldn't say any of this, much less all of it, and so instead he said nothing.

Eames didn't seem to mind. They were both already dressed for bed, and so Arthur simply helped Eames up off the bed and turned back the covers.

Tomorrow they would have to decide where they were going to go next, and Arthur would have to figure out how to tackle several different delicate subjects with Eames.

But that was tomorrow. Right now, tonight, here in Cobb's house where they both knew they were safe and welcome, Eames was willing to share the bed with Arthur, and they were going to get some much needed sleep.

Eames was himself again, and Arthur was going to get to hold him close, to comfort himself with the warm, breathing reality of Eames in his arms, knowing that he was back inside his head instead of being lost in limbo, in his own subconscious.

There was a lot that they needed to repair, both individually and together. But Arthur could be sure that they were both willing to give it a try together.

Whatever else the future might hold, Arthur had succeeded in his desperate bid to rescue Eames from limbo. And for tonight, maybe that was all that mattered, he thought as he wrapped his arms around Eames underneath the covers and clung tightly.

For tonight, this truly was all that mattered.

=+=

Things didn't seem as simple in the cold light of day, as the sun and Arthur rose at about the same time the next morning. But if Arthur had been afraid of things that were difficult, he wouldn't have stuck by Cobb as long as he had. He wouldn't have attempted to perform inception. He wouldn't be where he was, in the dream-share, in life, and here in Cobb's house, with Eames by his side.

And that was what was going to make the effort worthwhile, wasn't it. Being beside Eames and helping Eames to heal what had been done to him. Only some of it by Arthur, though he'd played his part too. Even more so, knowing what he now knew about Eames' past and how it had affected his sense of self.

In all the fuss of fetching Eames from limbo and the shock of discovering what Rodgers had done, Arthur had nearly forgotten what his first trip to limbo had shown him. Namely, that Eames was nowhere near as confident and self-assured as he liked to appear.

Whether it had been actual memories or only projection -- in a very literal sense -- too many of the people in Eames' past who should have been loving and protective of him had instead rejected him and told him he would have been better not born. It had been horrifying, whether it had happened or not, because even if it hadn't been reality, it was something that was sunk so deeply into Eames' mind that it had become a part of him. And if it _had_ been reality... well.

Ariadne had been right when she had pointed out to Arthur that a person's own projections shouldn't attack. And yet Eames' had; they'd attacked Eames as well as Arthur. Which meant that there was something seriously wrong in Eames inner psyche and sense of self respect.

Arthur didn't know if this was something that he could even begin to address, whether it was a hurt he would be able to heal, but he would do the best he could. He needed to convince Eames' that he mattered to Arthur. That he meant more than Arthur could say.

Going down into limbo for him twice had been a start. But there was so much more going on than that.

It wasn't really surprising that Arthur was feeling a little overwhelmed. But he knew he could do this. All he had to do was look into Eames' clear grey eyes. There was pain there, and a trepidation that it hurt Arthur to see when Eames met his gaze, but just looking into Eames' eyes reminded Arthur of why he was doing this. Why Eames mattered so much to him.

"Changed your mind yet?" Eames asked, speaking the words flippantly, but still staring at Arthur intently.

Arthur firmed his jaw and raised his chin. "Not going to happen," he informed Eames, his tone clipped, but it was that or lose control completely. And right now Eames needed Arthur to be the strong one.

It was in this fact that Arthur found his strength. Doubt and uncertainty faded away. Arthur was _going_ to fix this. He'd mend whatever had broken between the two of them, and he would do whatever he could to help Eames with his other issues. It was true that these other issues were private and none of Arthur's business. But, through no fault of his own, he now knew about them, and he couldn't forget what he had learned. He didn't really want to, because knowing these things brought him that much closer to understanding Eames.

Arthur had always thought that there was more to the forger than the image he put forward, the masks he had hidden behind. That the truth was much darker than he had expected... well, Arthur could work with that.

Eames had always chided him for his lack of imagination. But as his stunt with the elevator in the second level of the Fischer job had proved, Arthur was lacking in neither determination nor resourcefulness.

And he wasn't going to give up on Eames. He wouldn't stop until Eames knew how much he meant to Arthur, and _believed_ it.

"I will never change my mind," he told Eames firmly. And for the moment he allowed himself the luxury of thinking that Eames believed him.


	6. Chapter 6

It wasn't so much that Eames didn't trust Arthur to know his own mind. It wasn't that he didn't believe that Arthur was one hundred percent convinced that he was speaking the truth when he told Eames that he wasn't going to leave him and that they would fix everything that had gone wrong.

But he just didn't think that Arthur understood what he was letting himself in for.

It was true that Arthur had been down into limbo, into the chaos of Eames' subconscious. Eames cringed to think what Arthur might have seen there that had put that mournful softness in his eyes, what he must have witnessed to have brought that mulish expression of determination to his face.

Eames couldn't do anything about that now. He didn't really _want_ to change Arthur's mind, didn't want to lose the man all over again....

But he was also terrified that once he realized what a mess he was dealing with, Arthur was going to decide to cut his losses and leave.

It only made sense. Maybe before, when Eames had been a fully functioning member of the dream-share community, maybe then he and Arthur could have made something of the raw desire and growing respect between the two of them. But now...?

Eames wasn't broken, not anymore, not since Arthur had saved him from losing himself in limbo. But he wasn't whole, either. He didn't think that he had anything to offer Arthur when he wasn't even sure what he had left to himself.

He couldn't seem to come up with the words to tell Arthur all this, however. And before he knew it, Arthur had made the arrangements and they were leaving Cobb's house. Ariadne hugged him goodbye, which he found to be strange but also strangely comforting. James and Phillipa hugged him goodbye, which was just plain sweet, both of them asking him in piping voices to come back and see them sometime. He hoped it would be possible, though he couldn't imagine why they wanted to spend time with him. And then Cobb hugged him goodbye, which was even stranger than being hugged by Ariadne, but Eames supposed he appreciated the sentiment.

Besides, he owed all of them, and he had no idea when he was going to be seeing any of them again. Maybe soon... but maybe not for a long time. Maybe not ever. He had absolutely no idea how things were going to play out, whether he would ever lose the patina of shame that Rodgers had inflicted on him.

And now Arthur knew about that, thanks to limbo. There was so much more to it than that, but that was way up there, and was beginning to weigh heavily on Eames' mind.

He'd tried to take care of it by making sure Rodgers died. That hadn't helped, though at least once it was done he could be sure the bastard wouldn't drug and fuck any other hapless young men, who would undoubtedly have had less resources for revenge than Eames.

When the memories hadn't gone away, had continued to haunt him, to the point that projections of Rodgers had begun appearing in any dream that Eames entered whether he was the dreamer or not, Eames had looked into the extremely experimental, highly dangerous process of memory "eradication". It had seemed to be the only option he had left, but it had backfired on him. Badly.

He would be forever indebted to Arthur. Not only had the man come after him into limbo once, with no cause other than that he _wanted to_ , but when that hadn't worked he'd roped Cobb, Ariadne, Yusuf, and even Saito -- though Arthur claimed that last had been Cobb's doing -- into going under with him, and he'd entered limbo a second time to track Eames down where he was lost inside his own mind.

And now here they were, headed somewhere warm and not too crowded. Eames had been vague and Arthur had, with his usual competence and knack for specificity, made it happen anyway.

Eames tried to behave as though everything was normal. As though he hadn't been a mindless chunk of meat just twenty-four hours ago. As though he didn't owe Arthur -- and the others -- everything that he was and all that he might be in the future. As though he and Arthur were simply going on a vacation, even if the thought of this last was laughable at best.

He didn't think he was succeeding, considering the worried glances Arthur kept casting his way. But they had to pretend, the both of them, right? Because what else was there to do?

=+=

Arthur knew that Eames wasn't doing as well as the image he was presenting, but he didn't think there was anything he could do about it until they reached their destination and got settled.

So he put most of his effort into that, making sure that their traveling plans were complete and that everything went smoothly. This was something he _could do_ , something he was good at, and with all the stress and uncertainty of the last few weeks, he was glad to have this.

Eames was quiet and watchful, taking direction a lot better than he had used to, which was actually more disturbing than otherwise, but Arthur could understand the reason behind it. It was still a wonder to see him present behind his eyes, after so many days of seeing only blankness there. But the thrill was beginning to fade a little in the face of all the other things that they still had to deal with.

Arthur was a methodical man. And while Eames generally didn't tend to be amenable to the strictly structured approach, Arthur thought that this might be their best option at this point.

So once they were settled in their hotel suite, their clothes unpacked, both of them bathed and wearing clean, comfortable clothing, Arthur called room service and ordered them a pot of hot tea, then he sat them both down on the suite's opulent sofa, and started going through things methodically, if perhaps out of order.

"Eames, can we talk?" he asked, as if there was any choice. But he wasn't going to push Eames into anything he wasn't comfortable with, and if Eames didn't want to talk now, then Arthur would just order them dinner and let Eames choose what they should do with their evening.

Eames' eyes were dark but steady on his, and he cradled his tea in both hands. He looked tense, but so was Arthur. They could put this off for now, but they wouldn't be able to put it off forever.

"I suppose we ought to," Eames rumbled, sounding less than enthusiastic, but he seemed honest enough. "Better to get it over with."

Arthur grimaced, but he couldn't help feeling the same way.

"All right." He sucked in a deep breath. "Let me lead with this. I'm sorry for what happened with Eloise. I wasn't interested in her, I shouldn't have flirted with her, and I definitely shouldn't have let her kiss me."

Eames blinked, clearly startled by this subject. But of all the things they had to discuss, this was the one thing that was entirely on Arthur's head, and it was weighing on his conscience, so he wanted to get it out there and dealt with.

"I already said so in the dream-share, in limbo," Arthur pushed forward. "But I'm not sure you remember, because it was before you came back to yourself."

Eames licked his lips and nodded, his gaze slipping to the side. It was more in thought and not so much as though he was avoiding Arthur's eyes, or at least so Arthur liked to think. "That feels... familiar... even though I don't have a clear image in my head."

Arthur nodded in turn, because it was as he had expected. "I didn't kiss her first, but I didn't push her away as quickly as I should have," he admitted, easily enough. But now he was coming up on the part of the confession that was harder, that edged into territory that was going to lance open wounds that hadn't even yet begun to heal. "There was a reason for that."

"I was.... I was a little surprised," Eames said, setting aside his tea even though it wasn't finished, probably to disguise how his hands were beginning to tremble slightly. "It didn't seem.... I mean, I know we'd never come to an agreement... and I was a little distressed at the time and not really paying as much attention as I might have done normally, but...."

"It was my mistake," Arthur said honestly, and he spoke without hesitation, because if he hesitated he would never get the words out. "My horrible, horrible mistake. There's something I haven't told you yet, Eames."

Eames was watching him, his expression unreadable, but he appeared to be at least somewhat receptive. Besides, Arthur couldn't put this off any longer.

"You might hate me after you hear this," Arthur said, and he was appalled by the way his voice cracked a little. "I hope not, but...."

"Just go on, Arthur," Eames instructed evenly.

"It was during the Rodgers job," Arthur said, trying not to notice the way Eames flinched when he spoke that name, even though they had both known that this was going to have to come up, sooner or later. "I had the front of his house bugged. So when I reviewed the tapes, I saw you leaving the morning after the opera and got the entirely wrong idea. Of course I know now that I couldn't have had _more_ wrong an idea of what had happened, and I apologize for that fact. I'd do anything to take it back, Eames, I swear. All of it."

Eames blinked at Arthur, then he smiled a little, even though there was nothing to smile about. "Oh, darling," he drawled softly, reaching out and clasping one of Arthur's hands in his own. "I can't fault you for thinking the wrong thing. How were you to know?"

Arthur shook his head, feeling his damp hair tumbling around his temples, since he hadn't bothered to pomade it once he was done showering. "No, you don't get it, Eames. Even if I couldn't know then, and even if Rodgers died and we disbanded almost immediately after, I flirted back with Eloise, I let her kiss me, because _I was jealous_. Even though I could tell as soon as I saw you on our next job together that there was something wrong."

"Oh," Eames said. "Well." He shrugged a little, and his face was still soft, not accusative as Arthur had feared. "How were you to know? It might well have been something else. I do have a life outside of the jobs we work together. Well, did have," he amended, and Arthur wasn't sure, but he thought that was a good thing. He hoped so, at any rate. "I'm more flattered that you were jealous, however misplaced. Honestly."

"I should have gone to the opera with you," Arthur said, finally giving voice to the thought that had been rising to overwhelm him in his darkest moments, ever since he'd discovered what had actually happened to Eames in Rodgers' house. "I should have gone and then none of this would have...."

He couldn't finish that thought, shaking his head, feeling his face twist in pain, but Eames was shaking his head as well, and he had a strong, certain expression on his own face.

"You can't do that," he told Arthur firmly. "You can't beat yourself up over a 'what if'. Do you think I haven't spent my own share of time bemoaning the fact that I was stupid enough to accept the drink Rodgers offered me? _That_ is something to regret, right there."

Arthur felt helpless and weak, even though he had been the one to introduce this topic. "How much of what he did to you--" He almost felt he couldn't ask, but he also felt the overwhelming need to _know_. "I saw in limbo.... I wish I hadn't, but I did.... You seemed pretty out of it, Eames. I mean, obviously you remembered enough to want to erase it, but...." He grimaced. "I'm sorry. It's not my place to ask. You don't have to answer. But...."

Eames was still holding onto Arthur's hand and so he could feel that the trembling had increased, but Eames didn't pull away. "I remember enough," he said and now his voice was hoarse with emotion. "Enough to show you in limbo, clearly. But it _was_ a bit of a blur, even at the time. Not as much as I'd have liked... Whatever he dosed me with, it did more to incapacitate my body than my brain. It seemed he wanted me pliable but not senseless. Bastard."

He spat that last out with hatred but without heat. Arthur winced, even though it had not been in any way aimed at him.

"Don't," Eames snapped sharply even as Arthur opened his mouth, holding up his free hand. "Please, Arthur, for the love of all that's holy, _don't_ apologize again. Not for something that is not your fault and not even your concern."

Arthur tried to parse Eames' words for a subtle rejection, wondered whether Eames was hinting at him to drop the matter entirely, but he didn't think that was Eames' intent.

"All right," he said meekly.

Eames bit his lower lip, and Arthur kind of wanted to shoot himself in the head for the fact that he found this to be sexy when they were sitting here _discussing how Eames had been raped_.

"I'd rather you stop apologizing entirely," Eames continued. His fingers were still tight around Arthur's, and somehow they'd gotten closer to one another on the sofa, though Arthur wasn't sure which one of them had moved, or whether it might not have been both of them. "I owe you more than I can ever repay, for what you've done for me, so it seems more than a bit ridiculous that you keep on saying you're sorry."

"I'll try to restrain myself," Arthur promised, giving Eames a rueful little smile. "But I still feel guilty. About other things."

Eames stared at him for a long moment, then nodded. "Fair enough. Though I still maintain that any debt you feel you owe me, for any reason, has been more than absolved by the fact that you rescued me from limbo."

"That's...." Arthur fumbled for Eames' other hand, so that they were both safe in his grip. "Those things are unrelated, Eames."

"They don't feel that way."

"Okay." Arthur wasn't going to argue. He didn't feel like arguing. He couldn't really argue the point. And they had other things to talk about.

"So it was what Rodgers had done that drove you to attempt the 'eradication'. Right?"

Eames swallowed convulsively but nodded. "I just... I couldn't stop thinking about it. I just wanted it _gone_. And then a projection of him began showing up during jobs, and I felt...." He bit his lower lip. "I... I knew damned well that there was a huge possibility of failure, of disaster, but at the time it didn't seem as important as erasing the memories."

"I'm sorry," Arthur said, then hastened to add, "Not in an apologetic way. I'm just saying that it should never have happened to you, and I wish you hadn't had to deal with it."

Eames smiled at him in a strangely tender manner and slumped to rest his head against the back of the sofa, though he was still turned to face Arthur mostly directly. "It's all right now," he said softly. "After everything else that's happened, it kind of seems less vivid. I was drugged, after all. And I did make sure he died, even though that didn't help as much as I thought it would."

Arthur clenched his hands around Eames' and scooted closer. "If you hadn't, I would have," he said vehemently. "As soon as I found out."

"Then I'm glad I took care of it," Eames murmured, and his expression was shy and a little uncertain, but seemed to Arthur to be remarkably sweet. "Because I've rather liked having the majority of your attention ever since you brought me up out of limbo."

"Really?" Arthur hoped he didn't sound incredulous. He just wanted to be sure he'd heard right. He very much wanted this to be true.

"Well. Yeah." And now Eames cast his gaze down, his cheeks going a little pink. "I remember... I remember you kissing me... in the dream-share. You meant that?"

"Absolutely," Arthur replied quickly, because there couldn't be any question about that. "More than anything else, Eames."

He hoped that hadn't been the wrong way to put it, since he'd meant pretty much everything that he'd said and done ever since tracking Eames down in his hospital bed. But Eames didn't seem to take it poorly.

They were leaning in so close now, their faces only a couple of inches apart, their knees getting in the way of their clasped hands, but it suddenly didn't seem close enough.

"I'd like to kiss you again," Arthur whispered, his heart pounding in his chest, because this was bold and Eames would be within his rights to deny him, especially since they'd just recently been talking about Rodgers raping Eames.

"I'd like that too," Eames replied, and since there was no reason not to once he'd gotten permission, Arthur closed the slight distance between them and pressed his mouth against Eames'. It wasn't what he normally thought of as a "kiss", but it was a nearness, sharing body heat and breath and the scent and taste of them both. Eames' lips were plush beneath his own, and yet firm, with only as much give as his own had. And it was silly, but it was different kissing in the waking world, and so even though he'd already claimed Eames' mouth once, while they had been in limbo, it was something completely new now.

Eames moved his lips a little under Arthur's, but made no move to deepen the kiss, and once a few heartbeats had passed, Arthur shifted away. He didn't want to press too hard too early. Besides, they had reached an understanding, but there was still so much more to be said.

"I'm sorry that it took something like this for me to admit how I felt about you," Arthur said, taking a chance that this wasn't covered by the moratorium on apologies. "All of it. It was regrettable, and yet I'm glad that we managed to end up here."

"But where are we, Arthur?" Eames asked, and maybe Arthur had been hoping to convey more of his intent without having to speak the actual words... still, he couldn't begrudge Eames his question.

Most of the reason that they had taken so long to reach this point was because neither one had wanted to be the one to give ground first. Arthur had always held off expressing his interest in Eames -- even though it had been readily apparent to everyone who had known them -- because he hadn't been sure that Eames was interested in turn. Or, barring that, considering that it had been pretty obvious, he couldn't have been sure that Eames would have acknowledged it in turn, might have left him hanging there, feeling like a fool.

It had been a combination of pride and fear, then. He hadn't wanted to lose his dignity, and he hadn't dared to lose control of the situation, so he had held Eames at arm's length, to both their detriment.

He had always suspected that Eames was doing the same thing, and he probably had been, but now Arthur knew that there was more to it as well. He had been willing to discuss some of the things he had seen in limbo. Eames' pain at seeing Arthur and Eloise kissing. What Rodgers had done to Eames. But the things that Arthur had seen that had almost definitely been memories, the abuse and neglect he had suffered as a child and teen, the rejection he'd faced as a callow youth... those things were private. Arthur had no right knowing. Now that he did know, however, he couldn't ignore what he had seen. He couldn't disregard it. He needed to factor this knowledge into his every personal interaction with Eames....

But he could do that. He was good with keeping secrets and he was good at being discrete. Eames didn't need to know that Arthur had seen him verbally and emotionally abused by his father, taunted by his classmates, violently rejected by his companion in drinking and crime, and probably his first love, though that last hurt Arthur to think it.

Arthur was going to have to convince Eames of his dedication. But that was something that he could do. He had determination and patience on his side. He would make sure that Eames knew exactly what he intended, and he would convince him of the truth of it.

"I don't want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable," Arthur told Eames, raising one of his hands and brushing the bottom of his lower lip against the man's knuckles. He really wanted to kiss him again but they were talking, so he would settle for this. "But I don't want you to mistake my intent, either. We've danced around each other long enough, Eames. Too long. In limbo I asked whether there could be an 'us' and I meant it. Do you believe me?"

Eames lowered his eyes, lashes flickering over his cheeks, clear grey hidden from Arthur, but it seemed that he was only looking at the hand Arthur held before his lips, possibly giving himself a moment to consider Arthur's question.

"I think you must be a little mad," he finally rasped, though he raised his eyes again and met Arthur's gaze steadily enough. "But I can't deny that we have been dancing this dance for far too long, as you said. It... it couldn't hurt to give it a try... right?"

That was hardly a ringing endorsement, but it was more than Arthur had feared that he might get.

"How about this," Arthur offered. "I want to spend time with you, to get to know you, and I want to give you a chance to get to know me. That's all I'm asking for right now. No more than that. Unless, of course, you're ready for more."

"I want...." Eames licked his lips, but he hadn't lowered his gaze. "I'm not sure yet, Arthur. But I know that... what you're offering sounds good."

"Then we go with that. And work it out as we go." Arthur was fine with that, hadn't hoped for more because he was a rational man, and Eames had been and still was very damaged.

"Now, is there anything you want to ask me?" he prompted. "About anything? I feel as though it's my turn to open up, and it's definitely your right to know more."

Eames appeared to give it serious thought, but eventually he shook his head. He tugged lightly, and pulled their clasped hands from Arthur's mouth to his own, pressing his full lips against Arthur's knuckles more heavily than Arthur had done.

"Arthur, you followed me into limbo. And when that didn't work, you came down a second time and found me, brought me back to myself. I may not understand why you did it, but I can't doubt you. No one would do that for someone he didn't... care for."

Eames flushed as he said this last, and Arthur couldn't help himself crowding in and kissing him again. Things weren't completely resolved between them. Maybe they never would be, completely. And Eames was still suffering from what Rodgers had done, not to mention what damage his father and others had done him in the past. But he and Arthur were on the right path, and that was what really all that mattered right now.

"Thank you," Arthur said, kissing Eames once more before pulling back.

"For what?" Eames brow wrinkled and he was honestly confounded.

"For giving me a chance."

Eames stared at him a moment, then grinned. "Oh, that? Arthur, darling, I might be saying the same thing to you."

And that, right there, was what made Arthur think that this just might work.

=+=

"So how is Eames doing?" Dom asked Arthur as they waited for the coffee pot to finish brewing.

They could hear Eames and Ariadne playing with the children out in the living room, James squealing and Phillipa giggling gleefully. It was a sound that made Dom's heart feel warm.

"Good. Pretty good."

Arthur looked pretty good himself, Dom thought. Relaxed and at ease. He and Eames had shown up for Christmas, something that Dom had considered to be a virtual miracle. The coming for Christmas part, that was, not the fact that they had arrived together.

Of course, the fact that Cobb had issued the invitation in James and Phillipa's names might have had something to do with that fact that they had shown up.

"You both look good," Dom told Arthur, because there wasn't really any reason not to when it was true. "How has work been going?"

"All right," Arthur said, a slight line creased between his brows. "Eames was reluctant at first, but now he seems okay with it. He had a rogue projection, I guess. Before. But now it's gone."

Dom nodded, pouring himself some coffee. He didn't ask, because it wasn't his place.

"Something happened to him," Arthur explained, albeit vaguely, taking the pot from Dom once he was finished with it. "Something besides the whole limbo thing."

"I kind of figured," Dom said, grimacing. When Arthur stopped pouring and gave him a startled look, he shrugged. "Well, after all, there had to be a reason that he tried to get a memory erased, right? I don't know what it was and I don't have any right to know. I don't _want_ to know. But I figured that much out."

Arthur stared at him a moment longer, then grinned, ducking his head sheepishly. It always took Dom by surprised to see that Arthur had dimples; he knew that, of course, but he'd seen the man smile so seldom. "Sorry, Cobb. I'm not used to you actually paying attention to what's going on around you."

"It's been almost two years," Dom protested, but mildly. Arthur had a point; he'd been very self-involved when they had been working together. And they didn't see each other that often now.

"Sorry," Arthur said again, and he prepared a mug of coffee for Eames. Dom eyed the pot, but he had no idea how Ariadne drank hers, or even if she did. He'd thought about preparing her a mug, like Arthur had done for Eames -- only nothing like that at all -- but if she wanted coffee she was on her own.

In another moment they were going to head back out into the living room. This was likely to be Dom's last chance to corner Arthur alone during the visit; he and Eames were virtually inseparable. Dom was reminded of himself and Mal, and it only hurt a little. Mostly he was glad for Arthur.

"So, are you two... happy?" he asked, hanging back as Arthur picked up both mugs full of coffee and took a step toward the exit. That might not have been where he was headed with the question, but it seemed like the best way to finish it.

Arthur turned, gazing quietly at him over the two steaming mugs he was holding. Dom had never asked about Arthur's preferences, and that had worked for them. And he wasn't asking now. He just wanted to know whether they were happy together, whatever "together" might mean, even though he hadn't said the word.

"We are," Arthur replied after a moment. He sounded calm and he looked thoughtful, and Dom believed him. "We've still got a lot to work through, but we're working through it together."

Dom nodded. There was no such thing as happily ever after, as he damned well knew, but if two people were in it together and had the same goals, it was all worth it. He and Mal hadn't always had a fairy tale romance, but they had loved one another and that was something Dom would never doubt or regret, even if his subconscious had twisted it into something wrong and malevolent due to his guilt.

"I'm glad," he told Arthur. Because he was. And even though his feelings on the matter wouldn't change anything for Arthur, he wanted him to know. "Really."

Arthur smiled that soft smile again, and he looked years younger. But before he could reply, even if he had been going to, the children tumbled into the kitchen, followed closely by Ariadne and Eames.

Eames moved to stand beside Arthur, taking the mug he proffered. Ariadne made a beeline for the coffee pot. And Dom's children were clamoring for Christmas cookies. Since James and Phillipa were the center of his world, it was on them that Dom cast his full attention.

"We don't have any Christmas cookies yet," he told them, gazing down into their gorgeous pink little faces with their brightly gleaming eyes.

"Uncle Eames said he could help us make some," James piped, practically bouncing up and down. As if he needed more sugar.

"He said if it was all right with you," Phillipa added, and she was more restrained, but just as excited, Dom could tell. "And if Uncle Arthur helped."

"I can supervise," Ariadne added, pouring a generous helping of eggnog into her coffee in place of cream. Dom was surprised that she had come, as much as he was over Arthur and Eames being here. But he was just as happy to see her, even though he suspected she might be here more to see Arthur and Eames than himself.

"All right," he acquiesced, glancing up to smile at Eames. He and Arthur looked... they looked _right_ , standing there in one another's personal space, mugs in hand, pleasant expressions softening their faces. They looked good, as he had already noted. Separately, it was true, but especially together. "I suppose with this range of talent, I could hardly refuse," he continued, as his children cheered. "Though I think I'll join Ariadne as a spectator."

"I'm supervising," she corrected him. "From the table." She sat down and sipped her coffee-flavored eggnog. "You're supplying the ingredients and the oven, though," she offered generously.

Smiling, Dom joined her. He sat there, drinking his own coffee as Eames dug up some aprons and Arthur collected flour and sugar and bowls. They were all going to completely ruin their appetites for dinner, Dom thought, but he was filled with a sense of affection and warmth. He still missed Mal, so much it hurt. But his children were here, his friends were here, and they were going to have a wonderful Christmas, all of them.

"They look good together," Ariadne said softly, nodding at Arthur and Eames as they began making cookies with Phillipa and James' help, echoing his own thoughts exactly.

"They do," Dom agreed. It was true, and for as complex as Dom was certain their relationship really was, in the end it truly was that simple. They were happy, they made one another happy, and that was what was important.

"Thank you for inviting me," Ariadne smiled at him, and he realized that he had missed her. Not that he hadn't already known that, but he hadn't seen her since they had worked together to bring Eames back from limbo. "I'm glad to have a chance to see Arthur and Eames. And your kids. And you."

"Yeah, I see how I rank on that list," Dom grumbled, but he was grinning as he said it.

His kitchen was full of warmth, happiness, the sweet smell of baking cookies, the laughter of his children, and the company of his friends. He still missed Mal, always would, and he thought she would have adored Arthur and Eames; at least the way they were now, but that was in the past. There was an ache that would never ease, but watching his children laughing as they formed holiday cookies under Arthur's watchful eye filled him with a happiness that outweighed the pain.

He watched Eames reach out, resting his hand on Arthur's shoulder, not clinging, not demanding anything, just touching to touch, just for a moment, and he watched Arthur glance his direction and smile, and he really was happy for them.

Then Ariadne reached and squeezed his wrist, a brief instant of contact before she pulled her hand away, and she smiled at him, not the same way Arthur had done, but he wouldn't have wanted her to.

"Merry Christmas," she said, even though they were still a day and a half away from it. And that was nice as well.

"No eating cookie dough," Arthur scolded Eames, who smirk unrepentantly and then stole a kiss. Dom snorted, amused as much by their antics as by the fact that James was sticking a finger with a dollop of sweet, sugary dough in his mouth, his grin as wide and mischievous as Eames' had been.

That answered most of his questions right there. How they were together, and how Eames was doing. It was reassuring and heartwarming at once, and Dom was glad that they had accepted his invitation.

It had been a hard, rocky road, and Dom was sure there was far more to it than he would ever know, but Arthur and Eames were making it work.

Dom was glad he'd had a part to play, however small, in bringing this about. Because Arthur and Eames both deserved to be happy, and they deserved to be happy together. And they very clearly were.

"Merry Christmas," he said back to Ariadne, accepting the cookie Phillipa offered him from the first batch, still warm from the oven and not yet frosted. The taste was sweet and vanilla on his lips, and he smiled.

He was surrounded by friends and family, and all was well with the world. At least for tonight. And what more could he ask for? What more could anyone ask?

He met Arthur's eye, and Arthur was smiling too, though Dom could tell that all of his attention was focused on Eames. As it should be.

=+=

Arthur didn't really like staying at Cobb's house, didn't really like being anywhere other than his own home, the home he shared with Eames now. But it was only for a few days, and it meant so much to Phillipa and James. And he suspected it meant a lot to Cobb too.

Speaking of Phillipa, now that cookies had been made and everyone had retired for the night, Arthur had one more question to ask Eames. Something that hadn't occurred to him with all the other important things they'd had to discuss.

"Eames?" he said, settling himself under the covers, and watching as Eames changed his clothes. It was something well worth watching and he did so without hiding this fact, because despite what Rodgers had done to Eames, Eames was completely at ease around Arthur, trusted him implicitly. In fact, he seemed to be more reassured than anything by the fact that Arthur _liked_ looking at him.

"Yeah?" Eames replied, glancing over, then pulling his top on over his head. They were both in their pajamas because there would be no sex under Cobb's roof; not with the children in the same house. They'd just be sleeping. Which was a large part of why Arthur missed their own bed.

"I was wondering." Arthur bit at his lower lip. "When I was down in limbo the first time, when I finally caught up with you, you were in the shape of Phillipa. And I wondered why you chose that form."

Eames blinked at him.

"Well, I know you probably didn't _choose_ ," Arthur added quickly. "But when I finally caught up to you.... Well, to be honest, when _you_ found _me_ , you looked like Phillipa. You very definitely told me you weren't her, and you were a few years out of date, but...."

Eames frowned a little, but not _at_ Arthur. "Huh," he uttered. "I don't...."

"I didn't know you'd ever even met her," Arthur said. "And yet you had her down so perfectly that I thought at first that she was my own projection."

Eames ducked his head, looking a little sheepish. "Well. Once we were done with the Fischer job, I wanted to see the children I'd wound up risking my life and sanity for. I was... not happy. But once I saw them, I sort of understood. I was still angry at Cobb. I'm still less than pleased now, even with everything he's done for me. But the kids... I'm glad they have their father back."

Arthur nodded. That didn't really explain why Eames had chosen to take Phillipa's form, but he might not actually _know_ why. It had probably been a largely subconscious decision. It might have been simply because she was innocent and sweet and while she had undeniable abandonment issues, she hadn't been verbally abused and beaten down the way that Eames had been when he had been her age. So maybe that had factored into it.

But Eames had at least explained how he had known Phillipa. Arthur wasn't going to push, didn't need to know _how_ Eames had gotten close enough to Cobb's children to get to know them well enough to be able to assume Phillipa's form and voice perfectly. If Eames told him, that was fine. But it wasn't something that Arthur felt he needed to know.

"All right," he said, nodding. "I was just curious."

"Really?" Eames asked, climbing into bed beside him.

"Yeah," Arthur replied, reaching for Eames with ready arms. "It wasn't anything major. I just wondered. I was reminded of it tonight, when you and Phillipa were frosting the cookies together. It just popped into my head and I thought I'd ask."

"Okay," Eames said, taking him at his word, and their lips met, as sweet as the cookies had been and far more delicious, from Arthur's point of view.

And just as easy as that, Eames let it go. That was the one good thing that his travails had done for Eames. He was a lot more easy going and quiet than he had used to be. On the one hand, Arthur didn't think that it was good that Eames was more quiet... but he definitely appreciated the fact that he didn't need to worry as much about saying the wrong thing and rubbing Eames the wrong way. Eames had always been so prickly before, so easy to insult, even inadvertently. It was nice to see him slow down and be more calm on a regular basis.

Arthur had kind of expected the opposite, to be honest, when they had begun their lives together. After what Rodgers had done.... But then, he hadn't expected that they'd be having sex, either, at least not for a good long time, and that hadn't been so much an issue. As always, Eames seemed to live to confound Arthur's expectations of him; sometimes in good ways, and sometimes not.

Mostly good, though. And Arthur was definitely glad that they hadn't had to wait long to get physical. Eames wasn't going to forget about what had been done to him, not completely, but he seemed to have been able to move on past it. For which Arthur was grateful.

"You were good with James and Phillipa tonight," Arthur told Eames, because he'd resolved early on that if he had a compliment for Eames he was going to speak it without hesitation, in the hope that eventually Eames would stop rejecting said compliments. So far that was working pretty well.

Eames ducked his head under Arthur's chin, and Arthur reached to flip off the lamp on the bedside stand, plunging the room into darkness. It was cozy under the covers with Eames, all warmth and their mingled scents. Arthur wrapped his arms around the other man, with no intent of letting go until the next morning, and Eames clutched at him in return.

"Well, they took good care of me when I was...." Eames let that thought trail away, even though they both knew where it had been headed, pressing his lips against Arthur's collarbone where it was exposed by his top. Not in a sexual manner, but seeking comfort, as Arthur knew from past experience. "And they're sweet kids," he added, the words ticklish against Arthur's bared skin.

"They are," Arthur replied, running his fingers through Eames' hair in what he hoped was a comforting, soothing manner. It might not have been the best idea, bringing up things from the past; like limbo and the Fischer job. But they couldn't tiptoe around the subjects forever.

"But you're sweeter," he added a bit belatedly. Eames snorted out a little laugh against his neck, making him shiver and really wish that they weren't in Cobb's house. Arthur wondered whether they could get each other off _quietly_. It wasn't impossible... and Ariadne's room was between theirs and the kids'.... She would forgive them if she heard anything, right?

"You can't expect me to take you seriously when you say things like that," Eames said, but he sounded more fond than anything else.

"I like my sweetness tempered with some salt, some spice," Arthur said, pushing perhaps a little past what either of them could swallow, so to speak. Then he chuckled, lowering his chin to kiss Eames' temple. "Feel free to tell me to shut up now."

Eames shifted against him, but he seemed to be curling closer, his arms tightening around Arthur. "I..." he said, hesitantly, his voice more husky than normal, "I like you too, Arthur," he whispered, in the darkness, a secret between the two of them.

Arthur didn't mock Eames or brush off his words. He could feel his heart swelling almost painfully in his chest. He understood what Eames meant, and he understood what it had cost Eames to say the words.

"You know I feel the same way," he murmured, pressing his lips fervently against Eames' forehead, his cheekbone, the bridge of his nose, his chin, and finally his mouth. "You know I like you too, Eames."

He felt that in the intensity of the moment he could have used the other word beginning with an "l", slipped it in there without any hesitation or regret, but he didn't want to risk making Eames uncomfortable. And he definitely didn't want Eames to feel as though he was being forced to up the ante. Not when Eames had been the one to say it first, to have dared. Arthur wasn't going to risk doing anything to screw this up.

They traded soft kisses for long moments, sex the furthest thing from Arthur's mind now. Right now this was all about shared emotions and this shared moment in time. He didn't need anything more than this, because this was more than he had ever expected that he would get.

Things were never going to be perfect, and he and Eames were going to be working things out for the rest of their lives, because that was the way things were. Life wasn't perfect, but it was as good as it was going to get as long as they were together. And they _were_ in it together.

"Always," he whispered against Eames' lips, hoping that it sounded more like a promise than a threat. When Eames replied with a quiet, "Yes," he knew that they understood one another.

And, honestly, that was all that he needed. It was all he ever could have wanted.

=+=

Despite everything that Arthur had done for him, how very, very much Arthur had done for him, it had taken Eames a while to believe that Arthur meant everything that he said.

Or, no, that wasn't true. God help him, but Eames trusted Arthur at his word, trusted that Arthur believed in the things he said. What Eames didn't trust, _couldn't_ trust, was that Arthur wouldn't change his mind.

There was a part of Eames that was convinced that someday Arthur would recognize what a mess Eames was, would see how completely unfixable he was, and that this would be the day that Arthur would cut his losses and leave him.

Then it came to him one day, out of the blue, at the end of a particularly nasty spat which Arthur had done everything he could to derail even when they had both been overcome with emotion, that Arthur _already knew_. He already knew that Eames was an unfixable mess, and despite that fact, he was _still here_.

This realization actually broke Eames down in tears, which had Arthur ready to completely panic until Eames had managed to choke out a little of his reasoning. Then Arthur smiled at him, though his own eyes were a little damp as well, and his arms were tight around Eames, holding him close and holding him together.

"You're so silly," he said, but he said it in a way that made it clear that he didn't mind, that he wasn't mocking or demeaning Eames. "How many times do I have to tell you."

"Possibly the rest of our lives," Eames admitted into the clean line of Arthur's neck, clinging to him as though he was the one solid thing in Eames' life. Which he was. And in this moment Eames resolved to try to become more solid for Arthur, to become someone that Arthur could rely on and trust no matter what, all the time. He didn't know whether he had it in him, but it was a worthy goal. Arthur was worth any effort. "Sorry," he added, because he was.

"Just don't push me away, and I'll tell you how silly you are forever," Arthur said, his voice breaking a little with emotion. "Please."

And the fact that Arthur was actually begging to be allowed to shower Eames with love and comfort and affection just about broke Eames, at the same time it began to build something up inside him.

He might not be worthy of Arthur's regard, but he could become a man who _was_ worthy of it. He had Arthur right now, for some insane reason. So instead of dreading the day that this might end, he needed to accept it, treasure it, and if the day ever came that Arthur _did_ change his mind, then Eames would just have to fight to get Arthur back. Because Arthur was worth any effort, and Eames couldn't live without him. Not now that he had him.

"Forever sounds just about long enough," he said, pulling back and capturing Arthur's lips with his own before either of them could spout out any more nonsense. It was all very well and good to speak around their emotions, but sometimes a good kiss could say as much as a hundred words.

"Forever," he breathed against Arthur's lips, though, because that word tasted good, and because he meant it. And when Arthur pulled back to smile at him, he could see it reflected in those beautiful brown eyes.

"Forever," Arthur echoed, and this time Eames not only believed in Arthur, but he believed in them both, and their ability to make it a reality.

And, honestly, forever sounded just about right to him.

=end=


End file.
